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TAL&B OF A TiiAVKL^LEIi 



BY WASHINGTON IRVING 




PHILADELPHIA 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT &. CO. 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER 



BY 

GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent.. . ' ^ 

AUTHOR OF "the SKETCH-BOOK," "BRACEBRIDGE HALL," "KNICK- 
ERBOCKER'S KEW YORK," ETC. 



I am neither your minotaure, nor your centaure, nor your satyr, 
nor your hyaena, nor your babion, but your meer traveller believ* 
me. — Ben Jokson. 



THE AUTHOR'S REVISED EDITION. 



COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, 



• • • 

• • • 



PHILADELPHIA : 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

1873. 



?^ 2-°' 



f\0 

f\\ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by 

George P. Potnam, 

In the Clerh's Office of the District Court for the Southern District 

of New York. 






CONTENTS. 



PART I. 

STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. 

PAoa 

The Great Unkxown 13 

The Hunting-Dinxer 15 

The Adventure of my Uncle .... 22 

The Adventure op my Aunt 40 

The Bold Dragoon, or the Adventure op my 

Grandfather 47 

The Adventure op the Gerinian Student . . 60 

The Adventure of the Mysterious Picture . 69 

The Adventure of the Mysterious Stranger 81 
The Story of the Young Italian . . . .93 



PART n. 

BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS. 

Literary Life 135 

A Literary Dinner 139 

The Club of Queer Fellows .... 144 
The Poor-Devil Author . . . . ^ . 152 

Notoriety . 180 

A Practical Philosopher 184 

Buckthorns, or the Young Man of Great Ex- 
pectations 187 

Grave Reflections of a Disappointed Man . 262 

The Booby Squire 270 

The Strolling Manager 278 



n CONTENTS. 

PART in. 

THE ITALIAN BANDITTI. 

PACil 

The Inn at Terracina 303 

The Adventure of the Little Antiquary . 321 

The Belated Travellers 333 

The Adventure of the Popkins Family . . 356 

The Painter's Adventure 364 

The Story of the Bandit Chieftain . . . 376 
The Story of the Young Robber .... 393 
The Adventure of the Englishman . . . 410 

PART IV. 

THE MONEY-DIGGERS. 

well-Gate , 421 

Kidd the Pirate 426 

The Devil and Tom Walker 435 

WoLFERT Webber, or Golden Dreams . . 455 
The Adventure of the Black Fisherman . . 487 




TO THE READER. 




^ORTHY AND Dear Reader ! — Hast thou 
^^' ever been waylaid in the midst of a 



pleasant tour hy some treacherous malady : 
thy heels tripped up, and thou left to count 
the tedious minutes as they passed, in the solitude of 
an inn-chamber ? If thou hast, thou wilt be able to 
pity me. Behold me, interrupted in the course of 
my joiu-neying up the fair banks of the Rhine, and 
laid up by indisposition in this old frontier town of 
Mentz. I have worn out every source of amusement. 
I know the sound of every clock that strikes, and 
bell that rings, in the place. I know to a second 
when to listen for the first tap of the Prussian drum, 
as it summons the garrison to parade, or at what 
hour to expect the distant sound of the Austrian 
military band. All these have grown wearisome to 
me ; and even the well-known, step of my doctor, as 
he slowly paces the corridor, with healing in the 
creak of his shoes, no longer affords an agreeable 
interruption to the monotony of my apartment. 

For a time I attempted to beguile the weary 
hours by studying German under the tuition of 
mine host's pretty httle daughter, Katrine ; but I 
soon found even German had not power to charm 
a languid ear, and that the conjugating of icJi liebe 
might be powerless, however rosy the lips which 
uttered it. 



8 TO THE READER. 

1 tried to read, but my mind would not fix itself. 
I turned over volume after volume, but threw them 
by with distaste : " Well, then," said I at length, in 
despair, " if I cannot read a book, I will write one." 
Never was there a more lucky idea ; it at once gave 
me occupation and amusement. The -writing of a 
book was considered in old times as an enterprise of 
toil and difficulty, insomuch that the most trifling 
lucubration was denominated a " work," and the 
world talked with awe and reverence of " the labors 
of the learned." These matters are better under- 
stood nowadays. 

Thanks to the improvements In all kind of manu- 
factures, the art of book-making has been made 
familiar to the meanest capacity. Everybody is an 
author. The scribbling of a quarto is the mere pas- 
time of the idle ; the young gentleman throws oft' his 
brace of duodecimos in the intervals of the sporting- 
season, and the young lady produces her set of vol- 
umes with the same facility that her great-grand- 
mother worked a set of chair-bottoms. 

The idea having struck me, therefore, to write a 
book, the reader will easily perceive that the execu- 
tion of it was no difficult matter. I rummaged my 
portfolio, and cast about, in my recollection, for those 
floating materials which a man naturally collects in 
travelling ; and here I have arranged them in this 
little work. 

As I knoAv this to be a story-telling and a story- 
reading age, and that the world is fond of being 
taught by apologue, I have digested the instruction I 
would convey into a number of tales. They may 
not possess the power of amusement which thts 
tales told by many of my contemporaries possess ; 
but then I value myself on the sound moral which 
each of them contains. This may not be apparent 



TO THE READER. 9 

At first, but tlie reader will be sure to find it out in 
the end. I am for curing tlie world by gentle altera- 
tives, not by violent doses ; indeed, the patient should 
never be conscious that he is taking a dose. I have 
learnt this much fi-om experience under the hands of 
the worthy Hippocrates of Mentz. 

I am not, therefore, for those barefaced tales which 
carry their moral on the surface, staring one in the 
face ; they are enough to deter the squeamish reader. 
On the contrary, I have often hid my moral from 
sight, and disguised it as much as possible by sweets 
and spices, so that wliile the simple reader is listen- 
ing with open mouth to a ghost or a love story, he 
may have a bolus of sound morality popped down 
his throat, and be never the wiser for the fraud. 

As the public is apt to be curious about the 
sources whence an author draws his stories, doubtless 
that it may know how far to put faith in them, I 
would observe, that the Adventure of the German 
Student, or rather the latter part of it, is founded on 
an anecdote related to me as existing somewhere in 
French ; and, indeed, I have been told, since writ- 
ing it, that an ingenious tale has been founded on it 
by an English writer ; but I have never met with 
either the former or the latter in print. Some of 
the circumstances in the Adventure of the Myste- 
rious Pictm-e, and in the Story of the Young Italian, 
are vague recollections of anecdotes related to me 
some years since ; but from what source derived, I 
do not know. The Adventure of the Young Painter 
among the banditti is taken almost entirely from an 
authentic narrative in manuscript. 

As to the other tales contained in this work, and 
indeed to my tales generally, I can make but one ob- 
servation : I am an old traveller ; I have read some- 
what, heard and seen more, and dreamt more than 



10 TO THE READER. 

all. My bralu is filled, therefore, •with all kinds cf 
odds and ends. In travellino;, these heterogeneous 
matters have become shaken up in my mind, as the 
articles are apt to be in an ill-packed travelling- 
trunk ; so that when I attempt to draw forth a fact, 
I cannot determine whether I have read, heard, or 
dreamt it ; and I am always at a loss to know how 
much to believe of my own stories. 

These matters being premised, fall to, worthy 
reader, with good appetite ; and, above all, with good- 
humor, to what is here set before thee. If the tales 
I have furnished should prove to be bad, they Avill at 
least be found short ; so that no one will be wearied 
long on the same theme. " Variety is charming," as 
some poet observes. 

There is a certain relief in change, even though 

it be from bad to worse*! As I have often found in 

travelling in a stage-coach, that it is often a comfort 

to shift one's position, and be bruised in a new place. 

Ever thine, 

Geoffkey CRA"iON. 

Dated from the Hotel de Darmstadt, 
ct-devant Hotel de Paris, 

Mentz, otherwise called j^Iayence, 




PART FIRST. 



STRANGE STORIES 

Br 
A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. 



I '11 tell yoTi more, there was a fish taken, 

A monsirous fish, with a sword by 's side, a long sword, 

A pike in 's neck, and a gun in 's nose, a huge gun, 

Avd letters of mart in 's mouth from the Duke of Floreno*. 

Cleantkes. — This is a monstrous lie. 

Tony. — I do confess it. 

Do you think I 'd t«ll you truths ? 

Fletcher's V^iftfor a Month 



THE GEEAT UNKNOWN. 




HE following adventures were related to 
me by the same nervous gentleman who 
told me the romantic tale of the Stout 
Gentleman, published in " Bracebridge Hall." It 
is very singular, that, although I expressly stated 
that story to have been told to me, and described 
the very person who told it, still it has been re- 
ceived as an adventure that happened to myself. 
Kow I protest I never met with any adventure 
of the kind. I should not have grieved at tliis, 
had it not been intimated by the author of " Wa- 
verley," in an introduction to his novel of " Pev- 
eril of the Peak," that he was himself the stout 
gentleman alluded to. I have ever since been 
importuned by questions and letters from gen- 
tlemen, and particularly from ladies without num- 
ber, touching what I had seen of the Great Un- 
known. 

Now all this is extremely tantalizing. It is 
like being congratulated on the high prize when 
one has drawn a blank ; for I have just as great 
a desire as any one of the pubhc to penetrate the 
mystery of that very singular personage, whose 
voice fills every corner of the world, without any 
one being able to tell whence it comes. 



14 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

My friend, the nervous gentleman, also, who is 
a man of very shy, retired habits, complains that 
he has been excessively annoyed in consequence 
of its getting about in his neighborhood that he is 
the fortunate personage. Insomuch, that he has 
become a character of considerable notoriety in 
two or three country- towns, and has been repeat- 
edly teased to exhibit himself at blue-stocking 
parties, for no other reason than that of being 
" the gentleman who has had a glimpse of the 
author of ' AVaverley.' " 

Indeed the poor man has grown ten times as 
nervous as ever since he has discovered, on such 
good authority, who the stout gentleman was ; 
and will never foro;ive himself for not havinnj 
made a more resolute effort to get a full sight of 
him. He has anxiously endeavored to call up a 
recollection of what he saw of that portly person- 
age ; and has ever since kept a curious eye on all 
gentlemen of more than ordinary dimensions, 
whom he has seen getting into stage-coaches. All 
in vain ! The features he had caught a glimpse 
of seem common to the whole race of stout gentle- 
men, and the Great Unknown remains as great 
an unknown as ever. 

Having premised these circumstances, I will 
now let the nervous gentleman proceed with his 
stories. 




THE HUNTING-DINNEE. 




WAS once at a hunting-dinner, given by 
a worthy fox-hunting old Baronet, who 
kept bachelor's hall in jovial style in an 
ancient rook-haunted family-mansion, in one of 
the middle counties. He had been a devoted 
admirer of the fair sex in his younger days ; 
but, having travelled much, studied the sex in 
various countries with distinguished success, and 
returned home profoundly instructed, as he sup- 
posed, in the ways of woman, and a perfect mas- 
ter of the art of pleasing, had the mortification 
of being jilted by a little boarding-school girl, 
who was scarcely versed in the accidence of love. 
The Baronet was completely overcome by such 
an incredible defeat ; retired from the world in 
disgust ; put himself under the government of his 
housekeeper ; and took to fox-hunting like a per- 
fect Nimrod. Whatever poets may say to the 
contrary, a man will grow out of love as he grows 
old ; and a paqk of fox-hounds may chase out cf 
his heart even »• the memory of a boarding-school 
goddess. The Baronet was, when I saw him, as 
merry and mellow an old bachelor as ever fol- 
lowed a hound ; and the love he had once felt for 
one woman had spread itself over the whole sex ; 



16 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

BO that there was not a pretty face in the whole 
country round but came in for a share. 

The dinner was prolonged till a late hour ; for 
our host having no ladies in his household to 
summon us to the drawing-room, the bottle main- 
tained its true bachelor sway, unrivalled by its 
potent enemy, the tea-kettle. The old hall in 
which we dined echoed to bursts of robustious 
fox-hunting merriment, that made the ancient 
antlers shake on the walls. By degrees, how- 
ever, the wine and the wassail of mine host began 
to operate upon bodies already a little jaded by 
the chase. The choice spirits which flashed up 
at the beginning of the dinner, sparkled for a 
time, then gradually went out one after another, 
or only emitted now and then a faint gleam from 
the socket. Some of the briskest talkers, who 
had given tongue so bravely at the first burst, fell 
fast asleep ; and none kept on their way but cer- 
tain of those long-winded prosers, who, like short- 
legged hounds, worry on unnoticed at the bottom 
of conversation, but are sure to be in at the 
death. Even these at length subsided into si- 
lence ; and scarcely anything was heard but the 
nasal communications of two or three veteran 
masticators, who having been silent while awake, 
were indemnifying the company in their sleep. 

At length the announcement of tea and coffee 
in the cedar-parlor roused all hands from this 
temporary torpor. Every one awoke marvel- 
lously renovated, and while sipping the refreshing 
beveraire out of the Baronet's old-fashioned he- 
reditary china, began to think of departing for 



THE nUNTlNG-DINNER. 17 

their several homes. But here a sudden difficulty 
arose. While we iiad been prolonguig our re- 
past, a heavy winter storm had set in, with snow, 
rain, and sleet, driven by such bitter blasts of 
wind, that they threatened to penetrate to the 
very bone. 

" It 's all in vain," said our hospitable host, " to 
think of putting one's head out of doors in such 
weather. So, gentlemen, I hold you my guests 
for this night at least, and will have your quar- 
ters prepared accordingly." 

The unruly weather, which became more and 
more tempestuous, rendered the hospitable sug- 
gestion unanswerable. The only question was, 
whether such an unexpected accession of com- 
pany to an already crowded house would not put 
the housekeeper to her trumps to accommodate 
them. 

" Pshaw," cried mine host ; " did you ever 
know a bachelor's hall that was not elastic, and 
able to accommodate twice as many as it could 
hold ? " So, out of a good-humored pique, the 
housekeeper was summoned to a consultation be- 
fore us all. The^old lady appeared in her gala 
suit of faded brocade, which rustled with flurry 
and agitation ; for, in spite of our host's bravado, 
she was a little perplexed. But in a bachelor's 
house, and with bachelor guests, these matters 
are I'eadily managed. There is no lady of the 
house to stand upon squeamish points about lodg- 
ing gentlemen in odd holes and corners, and ex- 
posing the shabby parts of the establishment. 
A bachelor's housekeeper is used to shifts and 
2 



18 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

emergencies ; so, after raucli worrying to and fro, 
and divers consultations about the red-room, and 
the blue-room, and the chintz-room, and the dam- 
ask-room, and the little room with the bow-win- 
dow, the matter was finally arranged. 

When all this was done, we were once more 
summoned to the standing rural amusement of 
eating. The time that had been consumed in 
dozing after dinner, and in the refreshment and 
consultation of the cedar-parlor, was sufficient, in 
the opinion of the rosy-faced butler, to engender 
a reasonable appetite for supper. A slight repast 
had, therefore, been tricked up from the residue 
of dinner, consisting of a cold sirloin of beef, 
hashed venison, a devilled leg of a turkey or so, 
and a few other of those light articles taken by 
country gentlemen to ensure sound sleep and 
heavy snoring. 

The nap after dinner had brightened up every 
one's wit ; and a great deal of excellent humor 
was expended upon the perplexities of mine host 
and his housekeeper, by certain married gentle- 
men of the company, who considered themselves 
privileged in joking with a iJachelor's establish- 
ment. From this the banter turned as to what 
quarters each would find, on being thus suddenly 
billeted in so antiquated a mansion. 

" By my soul," said an Irish captain of dra 
goons, one of the most merry and boisterous of 
the party, " by my soul, but I should not be sur- 
prised if some of those good-looking gentlefolks 
that hang along the walls should walk about the 
rooms of this stormy night ; or if I should find 



TEE HUNTING-DINNER. 19 

tfie ghosts of one of those long-waisted ladies 
^urning into my bed in mistake for her grave in 
the churchyard." 

" Do you believe in ghosts, then ? " said a thin, 
hatchet-faced gentleman, with projecting eyes like 
a lobster. 

I had remarked this last personage during din- 
U(3r-time for one of those incessant questioners, 
who have a craving, unhealthy appetite in con- 
versation. He never seemed satis led with the 
whole of a story; never laughed when others. 
laughed ; but always put the joke to the ques- 
tion. He never could enjoy the kernel of the 
nut, but pestered himself to get more out of the 
shell. " Do you believe in ghosts, then ? " said 
the inquisitive gentleman. 

" Faith, but I do," replied the jovial Irishman. 
* I was brought up in the fear and belief of 
them. We had a Benshee in our own family, 
honey." 

" A Benshee, and what 's that ? " cried the ques- 
tioner. 

"Why, an old lady ghost that tends upon youi 
real Milesian families, and waits at their window 
to let tliem know when some of them are to die." 

" A mighty pleasant piece of information ! " 
cried an elderly gentleman with a knowing look, 
and with a flexible nose, to which he could give 
a whimsical twist when he wished to be waggish. 

" By my soul, but I 'd have you to knoA\ it's a 
piece of distinction to be waited on by a Benshee. 
ft 's a proof that one has pure blood in one's veins. 
i>ul i' faith, now we are talking of ghosts, there 



20 TjILEs of a traveller. 

never was a house or a night better fitted than 
die present for a ghost adventure. Pray, Sir 
John, have n't you such a thing as a haunted 
chamber to put a guest in ? " 

" Perhaps," said the Baronet, smihng, " I might 
accommodate you even on tliat point." 

" Oh, I should like it of all things, my jewel. 
Some dark oaken room, with ugly woe-begone 
portraits, that stare dismally at one ; and about 
which the housekeeper has a power of delightful 
stories of love and murder. And then a dim 
lamp, a table with a rusty sword across it, and a 
spectre all in white, to draw aside one's curtains 
at midnight " — 

" In truth," said an old gentleman at one end 
of the table, " you put me in mind of an anec- 
dote " — 

" Oh, a ghost-story ! a ghost-story ! " was vo- 
ciferated round the board, every one edging his 
chair a little nearer. 

The attention of the whole company was now 
turned upon the speaker. He was an old gentle- 
man, one side of whose face was no match for the 
other. The eye-lid drooped and hung down like 
an unhinged window-shutter. Indeed, the whole 
side of his head was dilapidated, and seemed like 
the wing of a house shut up and haunted. I '11 
warrant that side was well stuffed with ghost- 
stories. 

There was a universal demand for the tale. 

" Nay," said the old gentleman, " it 's a mere 
anecdote, and a very commonplace one ; but such 
as it is you shall have it. It is a story that I 



THE HUNTING-DINNER. 21 

once heard my uncle tell as having happened to 
himself. He was a man very apt to meet with 
strange adventures. I have heard him tell of 
others much more singular." 

'• What kind of a man was your uncle ? " said 
the questioning gentleman. 

" Why, he w^as rather a dry, shrewd kind of 
body ; a great traveller, and fond of telling his 
adventures." 

" Pray, how old might he have been when that 
happened ? " 

" When what happened ? " cried the gentleman 
with the flexible nose, impatiently. " Egad, you 
Uave not given anything a chance to happen. 
Come, never mind our uncle's age ; let us have liis 
adventures." 

The inquisitive gentleman being for the moment 
silenced, the old gentleman with the haunted lif id 
proceeded. 





THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 




{ANY years since, some time before the 
French Revohition, my uncle passed sev- 
eral months at Paris. The English and 
French were on better terms in those days than 
at present, and mingled cordially in society. The 
English went abroad to spend money then, and the 
French were always ready to help them : they go 
abroad to save money at present, and that they 
can do without French assistance. Perhaps the 
travelling English were fewer and choicer than at 
present, when the whole nation has broke loose 
and inundated the continent. At any rate, they 
circulated more readily and currently in foreign 
society, and my uncle, during his residence in 
Paris, made many very intimate acquaintances 
among the French noblesse. 

Some time afterwards, he was making a jour- 
ney in the winter-time in that part of Normandy 
called the Pays de Caux, when, as evening was 
closing in, he perceived the turrets of an ancient 
chateau rising out of the trees of its walled park ; 
each turret with its high conical roof of gray slate, 
like a candle with an extinguisher on it. 

" To whom does that chateau belong, friend ? '* 
cried my uncle to a meagre but fiery postilion, 



TEE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 23 

who, with tremendous jack-boots and cocked hat, 
was floundering on before him. 

" To Monseigneur the Marquis de -^ ," said 

the postilion, touching his hat, partly out of 
respect to my uncle, and partly out of reverence 
to the noble name pronounced. 

My uncle recollected the Marquis for a partic- 
ular friend in Paris, who had often expressed a 
wish to see him at his paternal chateau. My 
uncle was an old traveller, one who knew well 
how to turn things to account. He revolved for 
a few moments in his mind, how agreeable it 
would be to his friend the Marquis to be sur- 
prised in this sociable way by a pop visit ; and 
how much more agreeable to himself to get into 
snug quarters in a chateau, and have a relish of 
the Marquis's well-known kitchen, and a smack 
of his superior Champagne and Burgundy, rather 
than put up with the miserable lodgment and mis- 
erable fare of a provincial inn. In a few min- 
utes, therefore, the meagre postilion was cracking 
his whip like a very devil, or like a true French- 
man, up the long, straight avenue that led to the 
chateau. 

You have no doubt all seen French chateaus, 
as everybody travels in France nowadays. This 
was one of the oldest ; standing naked and alone 
in the midst of a desert of gravel walks and cold 
stone terraces ; with a cold-looking, formal garden, 
cut into angles and rhomboids ; and a cold, leaf- 
less park, divided geometrically by straight alleys ; 
and two or three cold-looking noseless statues ; 
and fountains spouting cold water enough to make 



24 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

one's teeth chatter. At least such was the feel- 
ing they imparted on the wintry day of niy uncle's 
visit ; though, in hot summer weather, I '11 warrant 
there was glare enough to scorch one's eyes out. 

The smacking of. the postilion's whip, which 
grew more and more intense the nearer they ap- 
proached, frightened a flight of pigeons out of a 
dove-cot, and rooks out of the roofs, and finally a 
crew of servants out of the chateau, with the 
Marquis at their head. lie was enchanted to see 
my uncle, for his chateau, like the house of our 
worthy host, had not many more guests at the 
time than it could accommodate. So he kissed my 
uncle on each cheek, after the French fashion, and 
ushered liim into the castle. 

The Marquis did the honors of the house w^ith 
the urbanity of his country. In fact, he M^as proud 
of his old family chateau, lor part of it was 
extremely old. There was a tower and chapel 
which had been built almost before the memory 
of man ; but the rest was more modern, the castle 
having been nearly demolished during the wars 
of the league. The Marquis dwelt upon this 
event with great satisfaction, and seemed really to 
entertain a grateful feeling towards Henry the 
Fourth, for having thought his paternal mansion 
worth battering down. He had many stories to 
tell of the prowess of his ancestors ; and several 
skull-caps, helmets, and cross-bows, and divers 
huge boots and buff jerkins, to show, which had 
been worn by the leaguers. Above all, there was 
a two-handed sword, wdiich he could hardly wield, 
but which he displayed, as a proof that there had 
been giants in his family. 



TEE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 25 

In truth, he was but a small descendant from 
Buch great warriors. When fon looked at tlicii 
bluff visages and brawny limbs, as depicted in 
their portraits, and tlien at the little Marquis, \,-ith 
his spindle shanks, and his sallow lantern visage, 
Hanked with a pair of powdered ear-locks, or atles 
de pigeon, that seemed ready to fly away with it, 
you could hardly believe him to be of the same 
race. But when you looked at the eyes that 
sparkled out like a beetle's from each side of his 
hooked nose, you saw at once that he inherited 
all the fiery spirit of his forefathers. In fact, a 
Frenchman's spirit never exhales, however his 
body may dwindle. It rather rarefies, and grows 
more inflammable, as the earthly particles dimin- 
ish ; and I have seen valor enough in a little fiery- 
hearted French dwarf to have furnished out a 
tolerable giant. 

When once the Marquis, as was his wont, put 
on one of the old helmets stuck up in his hall, 
though his head no more filled it than a dry pea 
its peascod, yet his eyes flashed from the bottom 
of the iron cavern with the brilliancy of car- 
buncles ; and when he poised the ponderous two- 
handed sword of his ancestors, you would have 
thought you saw the doughty little David wield- 
ing the sword of Goliath, which was unto him 
like a weaver's beam. 

However, gentlemen, I am dwelling too long on 
this description of the Marquis and his chateau, 
but you must excuse me ; he was an old friend of 
my uncle ; and whenever my uncle told the story, 
he was always fond of talking a great deal about 



26 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

his host. — Poor little Marquis ! He was one of 
that handful of gallant courtiers who made such 
a devoted but hopeless stand in the cause of their 
sovereign, m the chateau of the Tuileries, against 
the irruption of the mob on the sad tenth of 
August. He displayed the valor of a preux 
French chevalier to the last ; flourishing feebly 
his little court-sword with a ga-ga ! in face of 
a whole legion of sans-culottes ; but was pinned to 
the wall like a butterfly, by the pike of a poissarde, 
and his heroic soul was borne up to heaven on his 
ailes de pigeon. 

But all this has nothing to do with my story. 
To the point, then. When the hour arrived for 
retiring for the night, my uncle was shown to his 
room in a venerable old tower. It was the oldest 
part of the chateau, and had in ancient times been 
the donjon or strong-hold ; of course the chamber 
was none of the best. The Marquis had put him 
there, however, because he knew him to be a 
traveller of taste, and fond of antiquities ; and also 
because the better apartments were already occu- 
pred. Indeed, he perfectly reconciled my uncle 
to his quarters by mentioning the great personages 
who had once inhabited them, all of whom were, 
in some way or other, connected with the family. 
If you would take his word for it, John Baliol, 
or as he called him, Jean de Bailleul, had died of 
chagrin in this very chamber, on hearing of the 
success of his rival, Robert de Bruce, at the battle 
of Bannockburn. And when he added that the 
Duke de Guise had slept in it, my uncle was fain 
to felicitate himself on being honored with such 
distinguished quarters. -^ 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 27 

The night was shrewd and windy, and the 
chamber none of the warmest. An old long- 
faced, long-bodied servant, in quaint Kvery, who 
attended upon my uncle, threw down an armfiil 
of wood beside the fireplace, gave a queer look 
about the room, and then wished him hon repos 
with a grimace and a shrug that would have been 
suspicious from any other than an old French 
servant. 

The chamber had indeed a wild, crazy look, 
enough to strike any one who had read romances 
with apprehension and foreboding. The windows 
were high and narrow, and had once been loop- 
holes, but had been rudely enlarged, as well as 
the extreme thickness of the walls would permit ; 
and the ill-fitted casements rattled to every breeze. 
You would have thought, on a windy night, some 
of the old leaguers were tramping and clanking 
about the apartment in their huge boots and rat- 
tling spurs. A door which stood ajar, and, like a 
true French door, would stand ajar in spite of 
every reason and effort to the contrary, opened 
upon a long dark corridor, that led the Lord 
knows whither, and seemed just made for ghosts 
to air themselves in, when they turned out of 
their graves at midnight. The wind would spring 
up into a hoarse murmur through this passage, 
and creak the door to and fro, as if some dubious 
ghost were balancing in its mind whether to come 
in or not. In a word, it was precisely the kind 
of comfortless apartment that a ghost, if ghost 
\Lere were in the chateau, would single out for 
its favorite lounge. 



28 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

My uncle, however, though a man accustometl 
to meet with strange adventures, apprehended 
none at the time. He made several attempts to 
shut the doo]', but in vain. Not that he appre- 
hended anything,' for he was too old a traveller 
to be daunted by a wild-looking apartment ; but 
the night, as I have said, was cold and gusty, and 
the wind howled about the old turret pretty much 
as it does round this old mansion at this moment, 
and the breeze from the long dark corridor came 
in as damp and as chilly as if from a dungeon. My 
uncle, therefore, since he could not close the door, 
threw a quantity of wood on the fire, which soon 
sent up a flame in the great wide-mouthed chim- 
ney that illumined the whole chamber ; and made 
the shadow of the tongs on the opposite wall look 
like a long-legged giant. My uncle now clam- 
bered on the top of the half-score of mattresses 
which form a French bed, and which stood in a 
deep recess ; then tucking himself snugly in, and 
burying himself up to the chin in the bedclothes, 
he lay looking at the fire, and listening to the 
wind, and thinking how knowingly he had come 
over his friend the Marquis for a night's lodging 
— and so he fell asleep. 

He had not taken above half of his first nap 
when he was awakened by the clock of the 
chateau, in the turret over his chamber, wliich 
struck midnight. It was just such an old clock 
as ghosts are fond of. It had a deep, dismal 
(one, and struck so slowly and tediously that my 
uncle thought it would never have done. He 
counted and counted till he was confident he 
counted thirteen, and then it stopped 



TEE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE, 29 

The fire had burnt low, and the blaze of the 
last fagot was almost expiring, burning in small 
blue flames, which now and then lengthened up 
mto little white gleams. JMy uncle lay with his 
eyes half closed, and his nightcap drawn almost 
down to his nose. His fancy was already wan- 
dering, and began to mingle up the present scene 
with the crater of Vesuvius, the French Opera, 
the Coliseum at Rome, Dolly's chop-house in 
London, and all the farrago of noted places with 
which the brain of a traveller is crammed, — in 
a word, he was just falling asleep. 

Suddenly he was roused by the sound of foot- 
steps, slowly pacing along the corridor. My 
uncle, as I have often heard him say himself, was 
a man not easily frightened. So he lay quiet, 
supposing this some other guest, or some servant 
on his way to bed. The footsteps, however, 
approached the door ; the door gently opened ; 
whether of its own accord, or whether pushed 
open, my uncle could not distinguish : a figure all 
in white glided in. It was a female, tall and 
stately, and of a commanding air. Her dress 
was of an ancient fashion, ample in volume, and 
sweeping the floor. She walked up to the fire- 
place, without regarding my uncle, who raised his 
nightcap with one hand, and stared earnestly at 
her. She remained for some time standing by 
the fire, which, flashing up at intervals, cast blue 
and white gleams of light, that enabled my uncle 
to remark her appearance minutely. 

Her face was ghastly pale, and perhaps ren- 
dered still more so by the bluish light of the fire. 



30 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

It possessed beauty, but its beauty was saddened 
by care and anxiety. There was the look of one 
accustomed to trouble, but of one whom trouble 
could not cast down nor subdue ; for there \\^as 
still the predominating au^ of proud, unconquera- 
ble resolution. Such at least was the opinion 
formed by my uncle, and he considered himself a 
great physiognomist. 

The jfigure remained, as I said, for some time 
by the fire, putting out first one hand, then the 
other ; then each foot alternately, as if warming 
itself ; for your ghosts, if ghost it really was, are 
apt to be cold. My uncle, furthermore, re- 
marked that it wore high-heeled shoes, after an 
ancient fashion, with paste or diamond buckles, 
that sparkled as though they were alive. At 
length the figure turned gently round, casting a 
glassy look about the apartment, which, as it passed 
over my uncle, made his blood run cold, and 
chilled the very marrow in his bones. It then 
stretched its arms towards heaven, clasped its 
hands, and wringing them in a supplicating man- 
ner, glided slowly out of the room. 

My uncle lay for some time meditating on this 
visitation, for (as he remarked when he told me 
the story) though a man of firmness, he was also 
a man of reflection, and did not reject a thing 
because it was out of the regular course of events. 
However, being, as I have before said, a great 
traveller, and accustomed to strange adventures, 
he drew his niglitcap resolutely over his eyes, 
turned his back to the door, hoisted the bedclothes 
high over his shoulders, and gradually fell asleep. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE, S3 

How long he slept he could not say, when he 
was awakened by the voice of some one at his 
bedside. He turned round, and beheld the old 
French servant, with his ear-locks in tight buckles 
on each side of a long lantern face, on whicli 
habit had deeply wrinkled an everlasting smile. 
He made a thousand grimaces, and asked a thou- 
sand pardons for disturbing Monsieur, but the 
morning was considerably advanced. While my 
uncle was dressing, he called vaguely to mind 
the visitor of the preceding night. Ho asked the 
ancient domestic what lady was in the habit of 
rambling about this part of the chateau 'M. night. 
The old valet shrusrsed his shoulders as hiMi as 

Co o 

his head, laid one hand on his bosom, threv^ open 
the other with every finger extended, made' a 
most whimsical grimace Avhich he meant to be 
complimentary, and replied, that it was not for 
him to know anything of les homies fortunes of 
Monsieur. 

My uncle saw there was nothing satisfactory 
to be learned in this quarter. After breakfast, 
he was walking with the Marquis through tho 
modern apartments of the chateau, sliding over 
the well-waxed floors of silken saloons, amidst 
furniture rich in gilding and brocade, until they 
came to a long picture-gallery, containing many 
portraits, some in oil and some in chalks. 

Here was an ample field for the eloquence of 
his host, who had all the pride of a nobleman of 
the ancien regime. There was not a gTand name 
in Normandy, and hardly one in France, which 
was not, in some way or other, connected witli 



82 TALES Ob' A TRAVELLER. 

his house. My irncle stood listening with inwiard 
impatience, resting sometimes on one leg, some- 
times on the other, as tlie little Marquis descanted, 
with his usual tire and vivacity, on tlie achieve- 
ments of his ancestors, whose portraits hiuig 
along the wall ; from the martial deeds of the 
gtern warriors in steel, to the gallantries and in- 
trigues of the blue - eyed gentlemen, with fair 
emiling faces, powdeied ear-locks, laced ruffles, 
and pink and blue silk coats and breeches ; — 
not forgetting the conquests of the lovely shep- 
herdesses, with hooped petticoats, and waists no 
thicker than an liour-gkiss, who appeared ruling 
over their sheep and their swains, with dainty 
crooks decorated with fluttering ribbons. 

In the midst of his friend's discoiu'se, my uncle 
was startled on beholding a full-length portrait, 
the very counterpart of his visitor of the preced- 
ing night. 

" Methinks," said he, pointing to it, " I have 
Been the original of this portrait." 

" Pardonnez moi," replied the Marquis politely, 
" that can hardly be, as the lady has been dead 
more than a hundred years. That was the beau- 
tiful Duchess de Longueville, who figured dur- 
ing the minority of Louis the Fourteenth." 

" And was there anything remarkable in her 
history ? " 

Never was question more imlucky. The little 
Marquis immediately threw himself into the at- 
titude of a man about to tell a long story. In 
fact, my uncle had pulled upon himself the wliolc 
history of the civil war of the Fronde, in wliicb 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 33 

the beautiful Duchsss had played so distinguished 
a part. Turenne, Coligni, Mazarin, were called 
up from their graves to grace his narration ; nor 
were the affairs of the Barricadoes, nor the chiv- 
alry of the Port Cocheres forgotten. My uncle 
began to wish himself a thousand leagues off 
from the Marquis and his merciless memory, 
when suddenly the little man's recollections took 

more interesting turn. He was relating the 
imprisonment of the Duke de Longueville with 
the Princes Conde and Conti in the chateau 
of Vincennes, and the ineffectual efforts of the 
Duchess to rouse the sturdy Normans to their 
rescue. He had come to that part where she 
was invested by the royal forces in the Castle of 
Dieppe. 

" The spirit of the Duchess," proceeded the 
Marquis, " rose from her trials. It was astonish- 
ing to see so delicate and beautiful a being buffet 
so resolutely with hardships. She determined on 
a desperate meaiis of escape. You may have 
seen the chateau in which she was mewed up, — 
an old ragged wart of an edifice, standing on the 
knuckle of a hill, just above the rusty little town 
of Dieppe. One dark unruly night she issued 
secretly out of a small postern gate of the castle, 
which the enemy had neglected to guard. The 
postern gate is there to this very day ; openin*} 
upon a narrow bridge over a deep fosse between 
(lie castle and the brow of the hill. She was 
followed by her female attendants, a few domes- 
tics, and some gallant cavaliers, wlio still re- 
mainiid faithful to her fortunes. Her object was 



84 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

to gain a small port about two leagues distant, 
where she had privately provided a vessel for her 
escape in case of emergency. 

" The little band of fuo-itives were obli<2i:ed to 
perform the distance on foot. When they arrived 
at the port the wind was high and stormy, the 
tide contrary, the vessel anchored far off in the 
road, and no means of getting on board but by a 
fishing-shallop which lay tossing like a cockle- 
shell on the edge of the sm'f. The Duchess de- 
termined to risk the attempt. The seamen en- 
deavored to dissuade her, but the imminence of 
her danger on shore, and the magnanimity of her 
spirit, urged her on. She had to be borne to the 
shallop in the arms of a mariner. Such was the 
violence of the Avind and waves that he faltered, 
lost his foothold, and let his precious burden fall 
into the sea. 

" The Duchess was nearly drowned, but partly 
through her own struggles, partly by the exer- 
tions of the seamen, she got to land. As soon 
as she had a little recovered strength, she insisted 
on renewing the attempt. The storm, however, 
had by this time become so violent as to set all 
efforts at defiance. To delay, was to be discov- 
ered and taken prisoner. As the only resource 
left, she procured horses, mounted with her female 
attendants, en croupe, behind the gallant gentle- 
men who accompanied her, and scoured the coun- 
try to seek some temporary asylum. 

" While the Duchess," continued the Mar- 
quis, laying his forefinger on my uncle's breast 
to arouse his flagging attention, — " while the 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE, 33 

Duchess, poor lady, was wandering amid the 
tempest in this disconsolate manner, she arrived 
at this chateau. Her approach caused some un- 
easiness ; for the clattering of a troop of horse 
at dead of night up the avenue of a lonely 
chateau, in those unsettled times, and in a 
troubled part of the country, was enough Uy 
occasion alarm. 

" A tall, " broad-shouldered chasseur, armed to 
the teeth, galloped ahead, and announced the 
name of the visitor. All uneasiness was dispelled. 
The household turned out with flambeaux to re- 
ceive her, and never did torches gleam on a more 
weather-beaten, travel-stained band than came 
tramping into the court. Such pale, careworn 
faces, such bedraggled dresses, as the poor Duch- 
ess and her females presented, each seated behind 
her cavalier : while the half-drenched, half-drowsy 
pages and attendants seemed ready to fall from 
their horses with sleep and fatigue. 

" The Duchess was received with a hearty 
welcome by my ancestor. She was ushered into 
the hall of the chateau, and the fires soon crackled 
and blazed, to cheer herself and her train ; and 
every spit and stew-pan was put in requisition to 
prepare ample refreshment for the wayfarers. 

" She had a right to our hospitalities," con- 
<inued tlie Marquis, dravriiig himself up with a 
&lijdit decree of stateliness, " foi* she was related 
(o our family. I '11 tell you how it was. Her fa- 
ther, Henry de Bourbon, Prince of Conde " — — 

" But did the Duchess pass tlie night in the 
[jhateau ? " said my uncle rather abruptly, tcTri- 



S6 TALES OF A TRAVELLEK. 

fied at the idea of getting involved in one of the 
Marquis's genealogical discussions. 

" Oil, as to the Duchess, she was put into the 
very apartment you occu})ied last night, which at 
that time was a kind of state-apartment. Hei 
followers were quartered in the chambers open- 
in^?; upon the neighboring corridor, and her favo- 
rite page slept in an adjoining closet. Up and 
down the corridor walked the great chasseur who 
Lad announced her arrival, and who acted as a 
kind of sentinel or guard. He was a dark, stern, 
powerful-looking fellow ; and as the light of a 
lamp in the corridor fell upon his deeply marked 
face and sinewy form, he seemed capable of de- 
fendino; the castle with his single arm. 

" It v/as a rough, rude night ; about this time 
of the year — apropos ! — now I think of it, last 
night was the anniversary of her visit. I may- 
well remember the precise date, for it was a night 
not to be forgotten by our house. There is a 
singular tradition concerning it in our family." 
Here the Marquis hesitated, and a cloud seemed 
to gather about his bushy eyebrows. " There is 
a tradition — that a strange occurrence took place 
that night. — A strange, mysterious, inexplicable 
occurrence " — Here he checked himself, and 
paused. 

" Did it relate to that lady ? " inquired my 
uncle, eagerly. 

" It was past the hour of midnight," resumed 

the Marquis, — "when the whole chateau" 

[lere he paused again. My uncle made a move- 
aient of anxious curiosity. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 37 

" Excuse me," said the Marquis, a slight blush 
streaking liis sallow visage. " There are some 
circumstances connected with our family history 
which I do not like to relate. That was a rude 
period. A time of great crimes among gi'cat 
men : for you know high blood, when it runs 
wrong, will not run tamely, like blood of the 
canaiUe — poor lady ! — But I have a little fam- 
ily pride, that — excuse me — we will change 
the subject, if you please " — 

My uncle's curiosity was piqued. The pom- 
pous and magnificent introduction had led him tc 
expect something wonderful in the story to which 
it served as a kind of avenue. He had no idea 
of being cheated out of it by a sudden fit of 
unreasonable squeamishness. Besides, being a 
traveller in quest of informatioUy he considered it 
his duty to inquire into everything. 

The Marquis, however, evaded every question. 

"Well," said my uncle, a Httle petulantly, 
" whatever you may think of it, J saw that lady 
last night." 

The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him 
with surprise. 

" She paid me a visit in my bedchf^^mber." 

The Marquis pulled out his snuff-box with a 
shrug and a smile ; taking this no doubt for an 
awkward piece of English pleasantry, which 
politeness required him to be charmed with. 

My uncle went on gravely, however, and re- 
lated the whole circumstance. The Marquis 
heard him through with profound attention, hold- 
ing his snuff-box unopened iu his hand. Whaq 



38 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

the story was finished, he tapped on the lid of 
his box dehberately, took a long, sonorous pinch 

of sniifF 

"Bah!" said the Marquis, and walked to 
wards the other end of the gallery. 

Here the narrator paused. The company 
waited for some time for him to resume his nar- 
ration ; but he continued silent. 

" Well," said the inquisitive gentleman, — 
'* and what did your uncle say then ? " 

"Nothing," replied the other. 

" And what did the Marquis say farther ? " 

« Nothing." 

" And is that all ? " 

" That is all," said the narrator, filling a glass 
of wine. 

" I surmise," said the shrewd old gentleman 
with the waggish nose, — "I surmise the ghost 
must have been the old housekeeper, walking her 
rounds to see that all was right." 

" Bah ! " said the narrator. " My uncle was 
too much accustomed to strange sights not to 
know a ghost from a housekeeper." 

There was a murmur round the table, half of 
merriment, half of disappointment. I was inclined 
to think the old gentleman had really an after- 
part of his story in reserve ; but he sipped his 
wine and said nothino^ more ; and there was an 
odd expression about his dilapidated countenance 
which left me in doubt whether he were in 
drollery or earnest. 

" Egad," said the knowing gentleman, with the 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 



89 



flexible nose, " this story of your uncle puts me 
in mind of one that used to be told of an aunt 
of mine, by the mother's side ; though I don't 
know that it will bear a comparison, as the good 
lady was not so prone to meet with strange ad- 
ventures. But any rate you shall have it." 




THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. 




Y aunt was a lady of largd frame, strong 
mind, and great resolution : she was 
what might be termed a very manly 
w^oman. My uncle was a thin, puny little man, 
very meek and acquiescent, and no match for my 
aunt. It was observed that he ' dwindled and 
dwindled gradually away, from u:e day of his 
marriage His wife's powerful mma was too 
much for him ; it wore him out. My aunt, how- 
ever, took all possible care of him ; had half the 
doctors in town to prescribe for him ; made him 
take all their prescriptions, and dosed him with 
physic enough to cure a whole hospital. All 
was in vain. My uncle grew worse and worse 
the more dosing and nursing he underwent, until 
in the end he added another to the long list of 
matrimonial victims who have been killed with 
kindness. 

" And was it his ghost that appeared to her ? " 
asked the inquisitive gentleman, who had ques- 
tioned the former story-teller. 

" You shall hear," replied the narrator. — My 
aunt took on mightily for the death of her poor 
dear husband. Perhaps she felt some compunc- 
tion at having given him so much })hysic, and 



TEE ADVENTURE OF 317 AUNT. 41 

nursed him into the grave. At any rate, she 
did all that a widow could do to honor his mem- 
ory. She spared no expense in either the quan- 
tity or quality of her mourning weeds ; wore a 
miniature of him about her neck as large as a lit- 
tle sun-dial, and had a full-length portrait of him 
always hanging in her bed-chamber. All the 
world extolled her conduct to the skies; audit 
was determined that a woman who behaved so 
well to the memory of one husband deserved 
soon to get another. 

It was not long after this that she went to take 
up her residence in an old country-seat in Derby- 
shire, which had long been in the care of merely 
a steward and housekeeper. She took most of 
her servants with her, intending to make it her 
principal abode. The house stood in a lonely 
wild part of the country, among the gray Derby- 
shire hills, with a murderer hanging in chains on 
a bleak height in full view. 

The servants from town were half frightened 
out of their wits at the idea of living in such a 
dismal, pagan-looking place ; especially when they 
got together in the servants' hall in the evening, 
and compared notes on all the hobgoblin stories 
picked up in the course of the day. They were 
afraid to venture alone about the gloomy, black- 
looking chambers. My lady's maid, who was 
troubled with n:rves, declared sne could never 
sleep alone in such a ^' gashly rummaging old 
building " ; and the footman, who was a kind- 
hearted young fellow, did all in his power to 
cheer her u . 



42 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

My aunt was struck with the lonely appear- 
ance of the house. Before going to t)ed^"there- 
fore, she examined well the fastnesses cf the 
doors and windows ; locked up the plate with her 
own hands, and carried the keys, together with 
a little box of money and jewels, to her own 
room ; for she was a notable woman, and always 
saw to all things herself. Having put the keys 
under her pillow, and dismissed her maid, she sat 
by her toilet arranging her hair ; for being, in 
spite of her grief for my uncle, rather a buxom 
widow, she was somewhat particular about her 
person. She sat for a little while looking at her 
face in the glass, first on one side, then on the 
other, as ladies are apt to do when they would as- 
certain whether they have been in good looks ; for 
a roistering country squire of the neighborhood, 
with whom she had flirted when a girl, had called 
that day to welcome her to the country. 

All of a sudden she thought she heard some- 
thing move behind her. She looked hastily 
round, but there was nothing to be seen. Noth- 
ing but the grimly painted portrait of her poor 
dear man, hano-ino; a^^ainst the wall. 

She gave a heavy sigh to his memory, as she 
was accustomed to do whenever she spoke of 
him in company, and then went on adjusting her 
night-dress, and thinking of the squire. Her 
eigb was reechdred, or answered by a long-drawn 
breath. She looked round again, but no one was 
to be seen. She ascribed tiiese sounds to the 
wind oozing through the rat-holes of the old man- 
sion, and proceeded leisurely to put hei haii* in 



TEE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. 43 

papers, when, all at once, she thought she per 
ceived one of the eyes of the portrait move. 

" The back of her head being towards it ! " 
said the story-teller with the ruined head, — 
« good ! " 

"Yes, sir!" replied dryly the narrator, "her 
back being towards the portrait, but her eyes fixed 
on its reflection in the glass." — Well, as I was 
saying, she perceived one of the eyes of the por- 
trait move. So strange a circumstance, as you 
may well suppose, gave her a sudden shock. To 
assure herself of the fact, she put one hand to her 
forehead as if rubbing it ; peeped through her fin- 
gers, and moved the candle with the other hand. 
The light of the taper gleamed on the eye, and 
was reflected from it. She was sure it moved. 
Nay, more, it seemed to give her a ^vink, as she 
had sometimes known her husband to do when 
living ! It struck a momentary chill to her heart ; 
for she was a lone woman, and felt herself fear- 
fully situated. 

The chill was but transient. My aunt, who 
was almost as resolute a personage as your un- 
cle, sir, (turning to the old story-teller,) became 
instantly calm and collected. She went on ad- 
justing her dress. She even hummed an air, and 
did not make even a single false note. She cas- 
ually overturned a dressing-box ; took a candle 
and picked up the articles one by one from the 
floor ; pursued a rolling pin - cushion that was 
making the best of its way under the bed ; then 
opened the door ; looked for an instant into the 
corridor, as if in doubt whether to go ; and then 
walked nuietlv out. 



44 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

She hastened down-stairs, ordered the servants 
to arm themselves with the weapons first at 
hand, placed herself at their head, and returned 
almost immediately. 

Her hastily levied army presented a formida- 
ble force. The steward had a rusty blunderbuss, 
the coachman a loaded whip, the footman a pair 
of horse-pistols, the cook a huge chopping-knife, 
and the butler a bottle in each hand. My aunt 
led the van with a red-hot poker, and in my 
opinion she was the most formidable of the 
party. The waiting-maid, who dreaded to stay 
alone in the servants' hall, brought up the rear, 
smelling to a broken bottle of volatile salts, 
and expressing her terror of the ghostesses. 
" Ghosts ! " said my aunt, resolutely. " I '11 
singe their whiskers for them I " 

They entered the chamber. All was still and 
undisturbed as when she had left it. They ap- 
proached the portrait of my uncle. 

" Pull down that picture ! " cried my aunt 
A heavy groan, and a sound like the chattering of 
teeth, issued from the portrait. The servants 
slirunk back ; the maid uttered a faint shriek, and 
clung to the footman for support. 

" Instantly ! " added my aunt, with a stamp of 
the foot. 

The picture was pulled down, and from a re- 
cess behind it, in which had formerly stood a 
clock, they hauled forth a round-shouldered, 
black-bearded varlet, with a knife as long as my 
arm, but trembling all over like an aspen- leaf. 

" Well, and who was he ? No ghost, I suppose," 
said the inquisitive gentleman. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. 45 

" A Knight of the Post," replied the narrator, 
' who had been smitten with the worth of the 
wealthy widow ; or rather a marauding Tar- 
qain, who had stolen into her chamber to violate 
her purse, and ritle her strong box, when all the 
house should be asleep. In plain terms," contin- 
ued he, " the vagabond was a loose idle fellow of 
the neighborhood, who had once been a servant 
in the house, and had been employed to assist in 
arranging it for the reception of its mistress. 
He confessed that he had contrived this hidinor- 
place for liis nefarious purpose, and had borrowed 
an eye from the portrait by way of a reconnoi- 
truig-hole." 

" And what did they do with him ? — did they 
hang him ? " resumed the questioner. 

" Hang him ! — how could they ? " exclaimed 
a beetle-browed barrister, with a hawk's nose. 
" The offence was not capital. No robbery, no 
assault had been committed. No forcible entry 
or breaking into the premises " — 

" My aunt," said the narrator, " was a woman 
of spirit, and apt to take the law in her own hands. 
She had her own notions of cleanliness also. 
She ordered the fellow to be drawn througli the 
hoi'se-pond, to cleanse away all offences, and tlien 
to be well i-ubbed down with an oaken towel." 

" And what became of him afterwards ? " said 
the inquisitive gentleman. 

" I do not exactly know. I believe he was 
sent on a voyage of improvement to Botany 
Uay." 

" And your aunt," said the inquisitive gentle- 



46 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

man ; " I '11 warrant she took care to make her 
maid sleep in the room with her after that." 

" No, sir, she did better ; she gave her hand 
shortly after to the roistering squire : for she 
used to observe, that it was a dismal thing for a 
woman to sleep alone in the country." 

" She was right," observed the inquisitive gen- 
tleman, nodding sagaciously ; " but I am sorry 
they did not hang that fellow." 

It was agreed on all hands that the last narra- 
tor had brought his tale to the most satisfactory 
conclusion, though a country clergyman present 
regretted that the uncle and aunt, who figured in 
the different stories, had not been married to- 
gether ; they certainly would have been well 
matched. 

" But I don't see, after all," said the inquisi- 
tive gentleman, " that theie was any ghost in this 
last story." 

" Oh ! If it 's ghosts you want, honey," cried 
the Irish Captain of Dragoons, " if it 's ghosts 
you want, you shall have a whole regiment of 
them. And since these gentlemen have given 
the adventures of their uncles and aunts, faitja, 
and I'll even give you a chapter out of my own 
family-history.'* 




THE BOLD DRAGOON; 



■IHE ADVENTURE OF MY GRANDFATHER. 




Y grandfather was a bold dragoon, for 
it 's a profession, d' ye see, that has run 
in the family. All ray forefathers have 
been dragoons, and died on the field of honor, 
except myself, and I hope my posterity may be 
able to say the same ; however, I don't mean to 
be vainglorious. Well, my grandfather, as I said, 
was a bold dragoon, and had s.erved in the Low 
Countries. In fact, he was one of that very army, 
which, according to my uncle Toby, swore so ter- 
ribly in Flanders. He could swear a good stick 
himself; and moreover was the very man that 
introduced the doctrine Corporal Trim mentions 
of radical heat and radical moisture, or, in other 
words, the mode of keeping out the damps of ditch- 
water by burnt brandy. Be that as it may, it 's 
nothing to the purport of my story. I only tell 
it to show you that my grandfather was a man 
not easily to be humbugged. He had seen ser- 
vice, or, according to his own phrase, he had seen 
the devil — and that 's saying everytliing. 
"Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was on his way 



48 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

to England, for which he intended to embark from 
Ostend — bad luck to the place ! for one where T 
was kept by storms and head-winds for three long 
days, and the devil of a jolly companion or pretty 
girl to comfort me. Well, as I was saying, my 
grandfather was on his way to England, or rather 
to Ostend — no matter which, it 's all the same. 
So one evening, tow^ards nightfall, he rode jollily 
into Bruges. — Very like you all know Bruges, 
gentlemen ; a queer, old-fashioned Flemish town, 
once, they say, a great place for trade and money- 
making in old times, when the Mynheers were in 
their glory ; but almost as large and as empty as 
an Irishman's pocket at the present day. — AVell, 
gentlemen, it was at the time of the annual fair. 
All Bruges was crowded ; and the canals swarmed 
with Dutch boats, and the streets swarmed with 
Dutch merchants ; and there was hardly any get- 
ting along for goods, wares, and merchandises, and 
peasants in big breeches, and women in half a 
score of petticoats. 

My grandfather rode jollily along, in his easy, 
slashing way, for he was a saucy, sunshiny fellow 
— staring about him at the motley crowd, and 
the old houses with gable ends to the street, and 
storks' nests in the chimneys ; winking at the 
yafrows who showed their faces at the windows, 
and joking the women right and left in the street ; 
all of whom laughed, and took it in amazing good 
part ; for though he did not knoAv a word of the 
language, yet he had always a knack of making 
himself understood amons; the women. 

Well, gentlemen, it being the time of the an- 



THE BOLD DRAGOON. 49 

nual fair, all the town was crowded, every inn 
and tavern full, and my grandfather applied in 
vain from one to the other for admittance. At 
length he rode up to an old rickety inn, that 
looked ready to fall to pieces, and which all the 
rats would have run away from, if they could have 
Ibnnd room in any other house to put their heads. 
It was just such a queer building as you see in 
Dutch pictures, with a tall roof that reached up 
into the clouds, and as many garrets, one over the 
other, as the seven heavens of Mahomet. Noth- 
insT had saved it from tumblino; down but a stork's 
nest on the chimney, which always brings good 
luck to a house in the Low Countries ; and at the 
very time of my grandfather's arrival, there were 
two of these long-legged birds of grace standing 
like ghosts on the chimney-top. Faith, but they 've 
kept the house on its legs to this very day, for 
you may see it any time you pass through Bruges, 
as it stands there yet, only it is turned into a 
brewery of strong Flemish beer, — at least it was 
so when I came that way after the battle of 
Waterloo. 

My grandfather eyed the house curiously as he 
approached. It might not have altogether struck 
his fancy, had he not seen in large letters over 
the door, 

HEER VERKOOPT MAN GOEDEX DRANK. 

My grandfather had learnt enough of the lan- 
guage to know that the sign promised good liquor. 
" This is the house for me," said he, stoppinjj 
short before the door. 
i 



50 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

The sudden appearance of a dashing dragoon 
was an event in an old inn frequented only by the 
peaceful sons of traffic. A rich burgher of Ant 
werp, a stately ample man in a broad Flemish 
hat, and who was the great man and great patron 
of the establishment, sat smoking a clean long 
pipe on one side of the door ; a fat little distiller 
4)f Geneva, from Schiedam, sat smoking on the 
other ; and the bottle-nosed host stood in the 
door, and the comely hostess, in crimped cap, 
beside him ; and the hostess's daughter, a plump 
Flanders lass, with long gold pendants in her 
ears, was at a side-window. 

" Humph ! " said the rich burgher of Antwerp, 
with a sulky glance at the stranger. 

" De duy vel ! " said the fat little distiller of 
Schiedam. 

The landlord saw, with the quick glance of a 
publican, that the new guest was not at all to the 
taste of the old ones ; and, to tell the truth, he 
did not like my grandfather's saucy eye. He 
shook his head. " Not a garret in the house but 
was full." 

" Not a garret ! " echoed the landlady. 

" Not a garret ! " echoed the daughter. 

The burgher of Antwerp, and the little distiller 
of Schiedam, continued to smoke their pipes sul- 
lenly, eying the enemy askance from under theii 
broad hats, but said nothing. 

My grandfather was not a man to be brow- 
beaten. He threw the reins on his horse's neck, 
cocked his head on one side, stuck one arm akim- 
bo, — " Faith and troth ! " said he, " but I '11 sleep 



THE BOLD DRAGOON. 51 

in this house this very night." — As he said this 
he gave a slap on his thigh, by way of empha- 
sis — the slap went to the landlady's heart. 

PIo followed up the vow by jumping off his 
horse, and making his way past the staring Myn- 
heers into the public room. — Maybe you 've 
been in the bar-room of an old Flemish inn — 
faith, but a handsome chamber it was as you 'd 
wish to see ; with a brick floor, and a great fire- 
place, with the whole Bible history in glazed tiles 
and then the mantelpiece, pitching itself head 
foremost out of the wall, with a whole regiment 
of cracked tea-pots and earthen jugs paraded on 
it ; not to mention half a dozen great Delft plat- 
ters, hung about the room by way of pictures ; 
and the little bar in ones corner, and the bouncing 
bar-maid inside of it, with a red calico cap, and 
yellow ear-drops. 

My grandfather snapped his fingers over his 
head, as he cast an eye round the room, — " Faith, 
this is the very house I 've been looking after," 
said he. 

There was some further show of resistance on 
the part of the garrison ; but my grandfather was 
an old soldier, and an Irishman to boot, and not 
easily repulsed, especially after he had got into 
the fortress. So he blarneyed the landlord, kissed 
the landlord's wife, tickled the landlord's daughter, 
chucked the bar-maid under the chin ; and it was 
agreed on all hands that it would be a thousand 
pities, and a burning shame into the bargain, to 
vurn such a bold dragoon into the streets. So. 
they laid their heads together, that is to say, wy 



52 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

grandfather and the landlady, and it was at length 
aoreed to accommodate him with an old chamber 
that had been for some time shut up. 

" Some say it 's haunted," whispered the land- 
lord's daughter ; " but you are a bold dragoon, 
and I dare say don't fear ghosts." 

" The devil a bit ! " said my grandfather, pinch- 
ing her plump cheek. " But if I should be 
troubled by ghosts, I 've been to the Red Sea 
in my time, and have a pleasant way of laying 
them, my darling." 

And then he whispered something to the girl 
A^hich made her laugh, and give him a good-hu- 
mored box on the ear. In short, there was no- 
body knew better how to make his way among 
the petticoats than my grandfather. 

In a little while, as was his usual way, he took 
complete possession of the house, swaggering all 
over it ; into the stable to look after his horse, 
into Jie kitchen to look after his supper. He had 
something to say or do with every one; smoked 
with th'.i Dutchmen, drank with the Germans, 
slapped he landlord on the shoulder, romped with 
his daui-'hter and the bar-maid : — never, since the 
days' of Alley Croaker, had such a rattling blade 
been seen. The landlord stared at him with aston- 
ishment ; the landlord's daughter hung her head 
and giggled whenever he came near ; and as he 
swaggered along the corridor, with his sword 
trailing by his side, the maids looked after him, 
and whispered to one another, " What a proper 
man ! " 

At supper, my grandfather took command of' 



TEE BOLD DRAGOON. 53 

the table-d'hote as t-hough he had been at home.; 
helped everybody, not forgettmg himself; talked 
with every one, whether he understood their lan- 
guage or not ; and made his way into the inti- 
macy of the rich burgher of Antwerp, who had 
nev^r been known to be sociable with any one 
during his life. In fact, he revolutionized the 
whole establishment, and gave it such a rouse, 
that the very house reeled with it. He outsat 
every one at table, excepting the little fat dis- 
tiller of Schiedam, who sat soaking a long time 
before he broke forth ; but when he did, he was 
a very devil incarnate. He took a violent affec- 
tion for my grandfather ; so they sat drinking and 
smoking;, and tellingi; stories, and sin2:in2: Dutch 
and Irish sono;s, without understandino; a word 
each other said, luitii the little Hollander was 
fairly swamped with his own gin and water, and 
carried off to bed, whooping and hickuping, and 
trollinsj the burden of a Low Dutch love-song. 

Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was shown 
to his quarters up a large staircase, composed of 
loads of hewn timber ; and through long; risrma- 
role passages, hung with blackened paintings of 
fish, and fruit, and game, and country frolics, and 
huge kitchens, and portly burgomasters, such as 
you see about old-fashioned Flemish inns, till at 
length he arrived at his room. 

An old-times chamber it was, sure enough; 
and crowded with all kinds of trumpery. It 
ooked lilvC an infirmary for decayed and super- 
amuiated furniture, where everything diseased 
01 disabled was sent to imrse or to be forgotten 



54 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Or rather it might be taken for a general con- 
gress of old legitimate movables, where every 
kind and country had a representative. No two 
chairs were alike. Such high backs and low 
backs, and leather bottoms, and worsted bottoms, 
and straw bottoms, and no bottoms ; and cracked 
marble tables with curiously carved legs, holding 
balls in their claws, as though they were going 
to play at ninepins. 

My grandfather made a bow to the motley as- 
semblage as he entered, and, having undressed 
himself, placed his light in the fireplace, asking 
pardon of the tongs, which seemed to be making 
love to the shovel in the chimney-corner, and 
whispering soft nonsense in its ear. 

The rest of the guests were by this time sound 
asleep, for your Mynheers are huge sleepers. 
The housemaids, one by one, crept up yawning 
to their attics ; and not a female head in the inn 
was laid on a pillow that night without dreaming 
of the bold dragoon. 

My grandfather, for his part, got into bed, and 
drew over him one of those great bags of down, 
under which they smother a man in the Low 
Countries ; and there he lay, melting between 
two feather beds, like an anchovy sandwich be- 
tween two slices of toast and butter. He was 
a warm-complexioned man, and this smothering 
played the very deuce with him. So, sure 
enough, in a little time it seemed as if a legion 
of imps were twitching at him, and all the blood 
m his veins was in a fever-heat. 

He lay still, however, until all the house was 



THE BOLD DRAGOON. 5i 

quiet, excepting the snoring of the Mynheer? 
from the different chambers ; who answered one 
another in all kinds of tones and cadences, like 
so many bull-frogs in a swamp. The quietei 
the house became, the more unquiet became my 
grandfather. He waxed warmer and warmer, 
until at length the bed became too hot to hold 
him. 

" Maybe the maid had warmed it too much ? " 
said tlie curious gentleman, inquiringly. 

" I rather think the contrary," replied the 
Irishman. " But, be that as it may, it grew too 
hot for my grandfather.'* 

" Faith, there 's no standing this any longer," 
says he. So he jumped out of bed, and went 
strolling about the house. 

" What for ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. 

" Why, to cool himself, to be sure — or per- 
haps to find a more comfortable bed — or per- 
haps — But no matter what he went for — he 
never mentioned — and there 's no use in taking 
up our time in conjecturing." 

Well, my grandfather had been for some time 
absent from his room, and was returning, per- 
fectly cool, when just as he reached the door, he 
heard a strange noise within. He paused and 
listened. It seemed as if some one were trying 
to hum a tune in defiance of the asthma. He 
recollected the report of the room being haunted ; 
but he was no believer in ghosts, so he push(!d 
the door gently open and peeped in. 

ICgad, gentlemen, there was a gambol carrying 
on within enough to have astonished St. Anthony 



56 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

himself. By the light of the fire he saw a pale 
weazen-faced fellow, in a long flannel gown and 
a tall white night-cap v/ith a tassel to it, who sat 
by the fire with a bellows under his arm by way 
of bagpipe, from which he forced the asthmatical 
music that had bothered my grandfather. As 
he played, too, he kept twitching about with a 
thousand queer contortions, nodding his head, and 
bobbing about his tasselled night-cap. 

My grandfather thought this very odd and 
mighty presumptuous, and was about to demand 
what business he had to play his wind-instru- 
ment in another gentleman's quarters, when a 
new cause of astonishment met his eye. From 
the opposite side of the room a long-backed, 
bandy-legged chair, covered with leather, and 
studded all over in a coxcombical fashion with 
little brass nails, got suddenly into motion, thrust 
out first a claw-foot, then a crooked arm, and at 
length, making a leg, slided gracefully up to an 
easy-chair of tarnished brocade, with a hole in its 
bottom, and led it gallantly out in a ghostly min- 
uet about the floor. 

The musician now played fiercer and fiercer, 
and bobbed his head and his night-cap about like 
mad. By degrees the dancing mania seemed to 
seize upon all the other pieces of furniture. Tlie 
antique, long-bodied chairs paired off" in couples 
and led down a country-dance ; a three-legged 
stool danced a hornpipe, though horribly puzzled 
by its supernumerary limb ; while the amorous 
lonjrs seized the shovel round the waist, and 
whirled it about the room in a German vvallz. 



THE BOLD DRAGOON. 57 

In short, all the movables got in motion : pirou 
etting liands across, right and left, like so many 
devils ; all except a great clothes-press, which 
kept courtesying and courtesying in a corner, 
like a dowager, in exquisite time to the music ; 
being rather too corpulent to dance, or perhaps 
at a loss for a partner. 

My grandfather concluded the latter to be the 
reason ; so being, like a true Irishman, devoted to 
the sex, and at all times ready for a frolic, he 
bounced into the room, called to the musician to 
strike up Paddy O'Rafferty, capered up to the 
clothes-press, and seized upon the two handles to 

lead her out : when — whirr ! the whole 

revel was at an end. The chairs, tables, tongs 
and shovel, slunk in an instant as quietly into 
their places as if nothing had happened, and the 
musician vanished up the chimney, leaving the 
bellows behind him in his hurry. My grand- 
father found himself seated in the middle of the 
floor with the clothes-press sprawling before him, 
and the two handles jerked off, and in h's hands. 

" Then, after all, this was a mere dream ! '' 
said the inquisitive gentleman. 

" The divil a bit of a dream ! " replied the 
Irishman. " There never was a truer fact in 
this world. Faith, I should have liked to see 
any man tell my grandfather it was a dream." 

Well, gentlemen, as the clothes-press was a 
mighty Iieavy body, and my grandfather lik(;- 
wise, particularly ' in rear, you may easily sup- 
pose that two sucli heavy bodies coming to the 
ground would make a bit of a noise. Faitli, the 



68 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

old mansion shook as though it had mistaken it 
for an earthquake. The whole garrison was 
alarmed. The landlord, who slept below, hurried 
up with a candle to inquire the cause, but with 
all his haste his daughter had arrived at the 
scene of uproar before him. The landlord was fol- 
lowed by the landlady, who was followed by the 
bouncing bar-maid, who was followed by the sim- 
pering chambermaids, all holding together, as 
well as they could, such garments as they first 
laid himds on ; but all in a terrible hurry to see 
what the deuce was to pay in the chamber of the 
bold dragoon. 

My grandfather related the marvellous scene 
he had witnessed, and the broken handles of the 
prostrate clothes-press bore testimony to the fact. 
There was no contesting such evidence ; particu- 
larly with a lad of my grandfather's complexion, 
who seemed able to make good every word either 
with sword or shillelah. So the landlord scratched 
his head and looked silly, as he was apt to do 
when puzzled. The landlady scratched — no, she 
did not scratch her head, but she knit her brow, 
and did not seem half pleased w^ith the explana- 
tion. But the landlady's daughter corroborated 
it by recollecting that the last person who had 
dwelt in that chamber was a famous juggler who 
died of St. Vitus's dance, and had no doubt in- 
fected aU the furniture. 

This set all things to rights, particularly when 
the chambermaids declared that they had all wit- 
nessed strange carryings on in that room ; and as 
they declared this " upon their honors," there 
could not remain a doubt upon this subject. 



THE BOLD DRAGOON. 55 

** And did your grandfather go to bed again in 
that room ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. 

" That 's more than I can tell. Where he 
passed the rest of the night was a secret he never 
disclosed. In fact, though he had seen much 
service, he was but indifferently acquainted with 
geography, and apt to make blunders in his trav- 
els about inns at night, which it would have puz- 
zled him sadly to account for in the morning." 

" Was he ever apt to walk in his sleep ? " said 
the knowing old gentleman. 

" Never that I heard of." 

There was a little pause after this rigmarole 
Irish romance, when the old gentleman with the 
haunted head observed, that the stories hitherto 
related had rather a burlesque tendency. " I 
recollect an adventure, however," added he, " which 
I heard of during a residence at Paris, for the 
truth of which I can undertake to vouch, and 
which, is of a very grave and singular nature." 




IDVENTUKE OF TFIE GERMAN STUDENT. 




N a stormy night, in the tempestuous 
times of the French revolution, a young 
German was returning to his lodgings, 
at a late hour, across the old part of Paris, The 
lightning gleamed, and the loud claps of thunder 
rattled through the lofty narrow streets — but I 
should first tell you something about this young 
German. 

Gottfried Wolfgang w^as a yomig man of good 
family. He had studied for some time at Got- 
tingen, but being of a visionaiy and enthusiastic 
character, he had wandered into those wild and 
speculative doctrines which have so often bewil- 
dered German students. His secluded life, his 
intense application, and the singular nature of his 
studies, had an effect on both mind and body. 
His health was impaired ; his imagination dis- 
eased. He had been indulging in fanciful spec- 
ulations on s.piritual essences, until, like Sweden- 
borg, he had an ideal Av^orld of his own around 
him. He took up a notion, I do not know from 
what cause, that there was an evil influence haiig- 
ing over him ; an evil genius or spirit seeking to 
ensnare him and ensure his perdition. Such aji 
idea working on his melancholy temperament. 



THE GERMAN STUDENT. 61 

produced the most gloomy effects. He became 
haggard and despoiiduig. His friends discovered 
the mental malady preying upon him, and deter- 
mined that the best cure was a change of scene ; 
he was sent, therefore, to finish his studies amidst 
the splendors and gayeties of Paris. 

Wolfo^ano; arrived at Paris at the breaking; out 
of the revolution. The popular delirium at first 
caught his enthusiastic mind, and he was capti- 
vated by the political and philosophical theories 
of the day : but the scenes of blood which fol- 
lowed shocked his sensitive nature, disgusted him 
with society and the world, and made him more 
than ever a recluse. He shut himself up in a 
solitary apartment in the Pays Latin^ the quarter 
of students. There, in a gloomy street not far 
from the monastic walls of the Sorbonne, he pur- 
sued his favorite speculations. Sometimes he 
spent hours together in the great libraries of 
Paris, those catacombs of departed authors, rum- 
maging among their hoards of dusty and obsolete 
works in quest of food for his unhealthy appetite. 
He Avas, in a manner, a literary ghoul, feeding in 
the charnel-house of decayed literature. 

Wolfgang, though solitary and recluse, was of 
an ardent temperament, but for a time it operated 
merely upon his imagination. He was too shy 
and ignorant of the world to make any advances 
to the fair, but he was a passionate admirer of 
female beauty, and in his lonely chamber would 
often lose himself in reveries on forms and faces 
which he had seen, and his fancy would deck out 
images of loveliness far surpassing the reality. 



62 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

While his mind was in this excited and subli- 
mated state, a dream produced an extraordinary 
effect upon him. It was of a female face of tran- 
scendent beauty. So strong was the > impression 
made, that he dreamt of it again and again. It 
haunted his thoughts by day, his slumbers by 
night ; in fine, he became passionately enamoured 
of this shadow of a dream. This lasted so long 
that it became one of those fixed ideas which 
haunt the minds of melancholy men, and are at 
times mistaken for madness. 

Such was Gottfried Wolforano;, and such his 
situation at the time I mentioned. He was re- 
turning home late x>ne stormy night, through some 
of the old and gloomy streets of the Marais, the 
ancient part of Paris. The loud claps of thunder 
rattled among the high houses of the narrow, 
streets. He came to the Place de Greve, the 
square where public executions are performed. 
The lightning quivered about the pinnacles of the 
ancient Hotel de Ville, and shed flickering gleams 
over the open space in front. As Wolfgang was 
crossing the square, he shrank back with horror 
at finding himself close by the guillotine. It was 
the height of the reign of terror, when this dread- 
ful instrument of death stood ever ready, and its 
scaffold was continually running with the blood 
of the virtuous and the brave. It had that very 
day been actively employed in the work of car- 
nage, "and there it stood in grim array, amidst a 
silent and sleeping city, waiting for fresh victims. 

Wolfgang's heart sickened within him, and he 
was turning shudderino; from the horrible engine, 



TEE GERMAN STUDENT, 63 

when he beheld a shadowy form, cowermg as it 
were at the foot of the steps which led up to the 
scaffold. A succession of vivid flashes of light- 
ning revealed it more distinctly. It was a female 
figure, dressed in black. She was seated on one 
of the lower steps of the scaffold, leaning forward, 
lier face hid in her lap ; and her long dishevelled 
tresses hanging to the ground, streaming with the 
rain which fell in torrents. Wolfgang paused. 
There was something awful in this solitary monu- 
ment of woe. The female had the appearance 
of being above the common order. He knew the 
times to be full of vicissitude, and that many a 
fair head, which had once been pillowed on down, 
now wandered houseless. Perhaps this was some 
poor mourner whom the dreadful axe had ren- 
dered desolate, and who sat here heart-broken on 
the strand of existence, from which all that was 
dear to her had been launched into eternity. 

He approached, and addressed her in the ac- 
cents of sympathy. She raised her head and 
gazed wildly at him. What was his astonishment 
at beholding, by the bright glare of the light- 
ning, the very face which had haunted him in his 
dreams. It was pale and disconsolate, but rav- 
ishingly beautiful. 

Trembling with violent and conflicting emo- 
tions, Wolfgang again accosted her. He spoke 
something of her being exposed at such an hour 
of the night, and to the fury of such a storm, 
and offered to conduct her to her friends. Slie 
pointed to the guillotine with a gesture of dread 
ful signification. 



64 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

'' I have no friend on earth ! " said she. 

" But you have a home," said Wolfgang. 

" Yes — in the grave ! " 

The heart of the student melted at the words. 

" If a stranger dare make an offer," said lie. 
"without danger of being misunderstood, I would 
offer my humble dwelling as a shelter ; myself 
as a devoted friend. I am friendless myself in 
Paris, and a stranger in the land ; but if my life 
could be of service, it is at your disposal, and 
should be sacrificed before harm or indignity 
should come to you." 

There was an honest earnestness in the young 
man's manner that had its effect. His foreign 
accent, too, was in his favor; it showed him not 
to be a hackneyed inhabitant of Paris. Indeed, 
there is an eloquence in true enthusiasm that is 
not to be doubted. The homeless stranger con- 
fided herself implicitly to the protection of the stu- 
dent. 

He supported her faltering steps across the 
Pont Neuf, and by the place where the statue 
of Henry the Fourth had been overthrown by the 
populace. The storm had abated, and the thun- 
der rumbled at a distance. All Paris was quiet ; 
that great volcano of human passion slumbered 
for a while, to gather fresh strength for the next 
day's eruption. The student conducted his charge 
through the ancient streets of the Pays Latin, 
and by the dusky walls of the Sorbonne, to the 
great dingy hotel which he inhabited. The old 
portress who admitted them stared with surprise 
at the unusual sight of the melancholy Wolfgang 
with a female companion. 



THE GERMAN STUDENT, 65 

Oil entering his apartment, the student, for the 
rlrst time, blushed at the scantiness and indiffer- 
ence of his dwelHng. He had but one chamber 
— aji old-fashioned saloon — heavily carved, and 
fantastically furnished with the remains of former 
magnificence, for it was one of those hotels in 
llie quarter of the Luxembourg palace, which 
iiad once belonged to nobility. It was lumbered 
with books and papers, and all the usual appara- 
tus of a student, and his bed stood in a recess at 
one end. 

When lights were brought, and Wolfgang had 
a better opportunity of contemplating the stran- 
ger, he was more than ever intoxicated by her 
beauty. Her face was pale, but of a dazzling 
fairness, set off by a profusion of raven hair that 
hung clustering about it. Her eyes were large 
and brilliant, with a singular expression ap- 
proaching almost to wildness. As far as her 
black dress permitted her shape to be seen, it was 
of perfect symmetry. Her whole appearance was 
aiglily striking, though she was dressed in the 
simplest style. The only thing approaching to an 
ornament w^hich she wore, was a broad black 
band round her neck, clasped by diamonds. 

The perplexity now commenced with the stu- 
dent how to dispose of the helpless being thus 
thrown upon his protection. He thought of aban- 
doning his chamber to her, and seeking shelter 
for himself elsewhere. Still he was so fascinated 
by her charms, there seemed to be such a spell 
upon his thoughts and senses, that he could not 
tear himself from her presence. Her manner, 



66 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

too, was singular and unaccountable. She spoke 
no niore of the guillotine. Her grief had abated. 
The attentions of the student had first won hei 
confidence, and then, apparently, her heart. She 
was evidently an enthusiast like himself, and en- 
thusiasts soon understand each other. 

In the infatuation of the moment, Wolfgans 
avowed his passion for her. He told her the 
story of his mysterious dream, and how she had 
possessed his heart before he had even seen her. 
She was strangely affected by his recital, and 
acknowledged to have felt an impulse towards 
him equally unaccountable. It was the time for 
wild theory and wild actions. Old prejudices 
and superstitions were done away ; everything 
was under the sway of the " Goddess of Reason." 
Among other rubbish of the old times, the forms 
and ceremonies of marriage began to be consid- 
ered superfluous bonds for honorable minds. 
Social compacts wei^e the vogue. Wolfgang was 
too much of a theorist not to be tainted by the 
liberal doctrines of the day. 

" Why should we separate ? " said he : " our 
hearts are united ; in the eye of reason and honor 
we are as one. What need is there of sordid 
forms to bind high souls together ? " 

The stranger listened with emotion : she had 
evidently received illumination at the same 
school. 

" You have no home nor family," continued he , 
'• let me be everything to you, or rather let us 
be everything to one another. If form is neces- 
sary, form shall be observed — there is my hand. 
r uledge mvself to vou forever." 



THE GERMAN STUDENT. 67 

•i Forever ? " said the stranger, solemnly. 

" Forever ! " repeated Wolfgang. 

Tlie stranger clasped the hand extended to 
lier : " Then I am yours," murmured she, and 
.sank upon his bosom. 

The next morning the student left his brido 
sleeping, and sallied Ibrth at an early lioiu' to 
s(ick more spacious apartments suitable to the 
(;han2:e in his situation. When he returned, he 
found the stranger lying with her head hanging 
over the bed, and one arm thrown over it. He 
spoke to her, but received no reply. He ad- 
vanced to awaken her from her uneasy posture. 
On taking her hand, it was cold — thei'e wai^ no 
pulsation — her face was pallid and ghastly. In 
a word, she was a corpse. 

Horrified and frantic, he alarmed the house. 
A scene of confusion ensued. The police was 
summoned. As the officer of police entered 
the room, he started back on beholding the 
corpse. 

" Great heaven ! " cried he, " how did thin 
woman come here ? " 

" Do you know anything about her ? " said 
Wolfgang eagerly. 

" Do I ? " exclaimed the officer : " she was 
guillotined yesterday." 

He stepped forward ; undid the black collar 
round the neck of the corpse, and the head rolled 
on the floor ! 

The student burst into a frenzy. " The fiend ! 
the fiend has gained possession of me ! " shrieked 
lie : " I am lo;?t forever." 



68 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



They tried to soothe hiai, but in vain. He 
was possessed with the frightful belief that ac 
evil spirit had reanimated the dead body to en- 
snare him. He went distracted, and died in a 
mad-house. 

Here tlie old gentleman with the haunted 
head finished his narrative. 

" And is this really a fact ? " said the inquisi 
live gentleman. 

" A fact not to be doubted," replied the other. 
'* I had it from the best authority. The student 
told it me himself. I saw him in a mad-house 
in Paris." 




ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS 
PICTURE. 




S one story of the kind produces another 
and as all the company seemed fully 
engrossed with the subject, and disposed 
to bring their relatives and ancestors upon the 
scene, there is no knowing how many more 
strange adventures we might have heard, had not 
a corpulent old fox-hunter, who had slept soundly 
through the whole, now suddenly awakened, with 
a loud and long-drawn yawn. The sound broke 
the charm : the ghosts took to flight, as though it 
had been cock-crowing, and there was a univer- 
sal move for bed. 

" And now for the haunted chamber," said the 
Irish Captain, taking his candle. 

" Ay, who 's to be the hero of the night ? " said 
the gentleman with the ruined head. 

" That we shall see in the morning," said the 
old gentleman with the nose : " whoever looks 
pale and grizzly will have seen the ghost." 

" Well, gentlemen," said the Baronet, " there's 
many a true thing said in jest — in fact, one of 
70U will sleep in the room to-night " 

" What — a haunted room ? — a haunted room ? 
— I claim the adventure — and I — and I — 



70 ' lA^ES OF A TRAVELLER. 

and I," said a dozen guests, talking and laughing 
at the same time. 

" No, no," said mine host, " there is a secret 
about one of mj rooms on which I feel disposed 
to try an experiment : so, gentlemen, none of you 
shall know who has the liaunted chamber until 
circumstances reveal it. I will not even know it 
myself, but will leave it to chance and the allot- 
ment of the housekeeper. At the same time, if 
it will be any satisfaction to you, I will observe, 
for the honor of my patei'nal mansion, that there 's 
scarcely a chamber in it but is well worthy of be- 
ing haunted." 

We now separated for the night, and each 
went to his allotted room. Mine was in one 
wing of the building, and I could not but smile 
at its resemblance in style to those eventful apart- 
ments described in the tales of the supper-table. 
It was spacious and gloomy, decorated with lamp- 
black portraits ; a bed of ancient damask, with a 
tester sufficiently lofty to grace a couch of state, 
and a number of massive pieces of old-fashioned 
furniture. I drew a great claw-footed arm-chair 
before the wide fireplace ; stirred up the fire ; sat 
looking into it, and musing upon the odd stories 
T had heard, until, partly overcome by the fatigue 
of the day's hunting, and partly by the wine and 
wassail of mine host, I fell asleep in my chair. 

The uneasiness of my position made my slum- 
ber troubled, and laid me at the mercy of all 
kinds of wild and fearful dreams. Now it was that 
my perfidious dinner and supper rose in rebellion 
against my peace. I was hag-ridden })y a fat 



THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 71 

saddle of mutton ; a plum-pudding weighed like 
lead upon my conscience ; the merry-thought of 
a capon filled me with horrible suggestions ; and 
a devilled leg of a turkey stalked in all kinds of 
diabolical shapes through my imagination. In 
short, I had a violent fit of the nightmare. Some 
strange, indefinite evil seemed hanging over me 
which I could not avert ; something terrible and 
loathsome oppressed me Avhich I could not shake 
off. I was conscious of being asleep, and strove to 
rouse myself, but every effort redoubled the evil ; 
until gasping, struggling, almost strangling, I sud- 
denly sprang bolt upright in my chair, and awoke. 
The light on the mantel-piece had burnt low, 
and the wick was divided ; there was a great 
winding-sheet made by the dripping wax on the 
side towards me. The disordered taper emitted 
a broad flaring flame, and threw a strong light 
on a painting over the fireplace which I had not 
hitherto observed. It consisted merely of a head, 
or rather a face, staring full upon me, with an ex- 
pression that was startling. It was without a 
frame, and at the first glance I could hardly per- 
suade myself that it was not a real face thrusting 
itself out of the dark oaken panel. I sat in my 
chair gazing at it, and the more I gazed, the 
more it disquieted me. I had never before been 
affected in the same way by any painting. The 
emotions it caused were strange and indefinite. 
They were something like what I have heard 
ascribed to the eyes of the basilisk, or like that 
mysterious influence in reptiles termed fascina- 
tion. I passed my hand over my eyes several 



72 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

times, as if seeking instinctively to brush away the 
illusion — in vain. They instantly reverted to the 
picture, and its chilling, creeping influence over my 
flesh and blood was redoubled. I looked round the 
room on other pictures, either to divert my atten- 
tion, or to see whether the same effect would be 
produced by them. Some of them were grim 
enough to produce the effect, if the mere grimnesrj 
of the painting produced it. — No such thing — 
my eye passed over them all with perfect indif- 
ference, but the moment it reverted to this visage 
over the fireplace, it was as if an electric shock 
darted through me. The other pictures were dim 
and faded, but this one protruded from a plain 
background in the strongest relief, and with won- 
derful truth of coloring. The expression was 
that of agony — the agony of intense bodily pain ; 
but a menace scowled upon the brow, and a few 
sprinklings of blood added to its ghastliness 
'^et it was not all these characteristics ; it was 
some horror of the mind, some inscrutable antip- 
athy awakened by this picture, which harrowed 
up my feelings. 

I tried to persuade myself that this was chimer- 
ical, that my brain was confused by the fumes of 
mine host's good cheer, and in some measure by 
the odd stories about paintings which had been 
told at supper. I determined to shake off these 
vapors of the mind ; rose from my chair ; walked 
about the room ; snapped my fingers ; rallied 
myself; laughed aloud. — It was a forced laugh, 
and the echo of it in the old chamber jarred upon 
my ear. — I walked to the Avindow, and tried to 



THE MYSTERIOUS PIC TUBE. 78 

discern the landscape through the glass. It was 
pitch darkness, and a howling storm without; 
and as I heard the wind moan among the trees, I 
caught a reflection of this accursed visage in the 
pane of glass, as though it were staring through 
the window at me. Even the reflection of it 
was thrilling. 

How was this vile nervous fit, for such T now 
persuaded myself it was, to be conquered ? I de- 
termined to force myself not to look at the paint- 
ing, but to undress quickly and get into bed. — 
I began to undress, but in spite of every effort I 
could not keep myself from stealing a glance 
every now and then at the picture ; and a glance 
was sufficient to distress me. Even when my 
back was turned to it, the idea of this strange face 
behind me, peeping over my shoulder, was insup- 
portable. I threw off" my clothes and hurried into 
bed, but still this visage gazed upon me. I had a 
full view of it in my bed, and for some time could 
not take my eyes from it. I had grown nervous 
to a dismal degree. I put out the light, and 
tried to force myself to sleep — all in vain. The 
fire gleaming up a little, threw an uncertain light 
about the room, leaving, however, the region of 
the picture in deep shadow. What, thought I, if 
this be the chamber about which mine host spoke 
as having a mystery reigning over it ? I had 
taken his words merely as spoken in jest ; might 
they .have a real import ? I looked around. The 
faintly lighted apartment had all the qualifica- 
tions requisite for a haunted chamber. It began 
in my infected imagination to assume stranga 



74 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

appearances — tlie old portraits turned paler aiid 
paler, and blacker and blacker ; the streaks of light 
and shadow thrown among the quaint articles of 
furniture gave them more singular shapes and char- 
acters. — ■ There was a huge dark clothes-press of 
antique form, gorgeous in brass and lustrous with 
wax, that began to grow oppressive to me. 

" Am I then," thought I, " indeed the hero of 
the haunted room ? Is there really a spell laid 
upon me, or is this all some contrivance of mine 
host to raise a laugh at my expense ? " The idea 
of being hag-ridden by my own fancy all night, 
and then bantered on my haggard looks the next 
day, was intolerable ; but the very idea was suf- 
ficient to produce the effect, and to render me 
still more nervous. — " Pish," said I, " it can be 
no such thing. How could my worthy host im- 
agine that I, or any man, would be so worried by 
a mere picture ? It is my own diseased imagina- 
tion that torments me." 

I turned in bed, and shifted from side to side, 
to try to fall asleep ; but all in vain ; when one 
cannot get asleep by lying quiet, it is seldom that 
tossing about wQl effect the purpose. The fire 
gradually went out, and left the room in total 
darkness. Still I had the idea of that inexplica- 
ble countenance gazing and keeping watch upon 
me through the gloom — nay, what was worse, 
the very darkness seemed to magnify its terrors 
It was like having an unseen enemy hanging 
about one in the night. Instead of having one 
picture now to worry me, I had a hundred. I 
fancied it in every direction — " There it is,** 



THE MYSTEEWUS PICTURE. 75" 

tliouglit I, " and there ! and there ! with its hor- 
rible and mysterious expression still gazing and 
gazing on me ! No — if I must suffer the strange 
and dismal influence, it were better face a single 
foe than thus be haunted by a thousand images 
of it." 

Whoever has been in a state of nervous agita- 
tion, must know that the longer it continues the 
more uncontrollable it grows. The very air of 
the chamber seemed at length infected by the 
baleful presence of this picture. I fancied it 
hovering over me. I almost felt the fearful vis- 
age from the wall approaching my face — it 
seemed breathing upon me. " This is not to be 
borne," said 1, at length, springing out of bed : 
" I can stand this no longer — I shall only tum- 
ble and toss about here all night ; make a very 
spectre of myself, and become the hero of the 
haunted chamber in good earnest. Whatever be 
the ill consequences, I '11 quit this cursed room 
and seek a night's rest elsewhere — they can but 
laugh at me, at all events, and they '11 be sure to 
have the laugh upon me if I pass a sleepless 
night, and show them a haggard and woe-begone 
visage in the morning." 

All this was half-muttered to myself as I has- 
tily slipped on my clothes, which having done, I 
groped my way out of the room and down-stairs 
to the drawing-room. Here, after tumbling over 
two or three pieces of furniture, I made out to 
reach a sofa, and stretching myself upon it, de- 
^^rmined to bivouac there for the nisfht. The 
wioment T found myself out of the neighborhood 



76 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

of that strange picture, it seemed as if the charm 
were broken. All its influence was at an end, 
I felt assured that it was confined to its own 
dreary chamber, for I had, with a sort of instinc- 
tive caution, turned the key when I closed the 
door. I soon calmed down, therefore, into a state 
of tranquillity ; from that into a drowsiness, and 
finally into a deep sleep ; out of which I did not 
awake until the housemaid, with her besom and 
her matm-song, came to put the room in order. 
She stared at finding me stretched upon the sofa, 
but I presume circumstances of the kind were not 
uncommon after hunting-dinners in her master's 
bachelor establishment, for she went on with her 
song and her work, and took no further heed 
of me. 

I had an unconquerable repugnance to return 
to my chamber ; so I found my way to the but- 
ler's quarters, made my toilet in the best way 
circumstances would permit, and was among the 
first to appear at the breakfast-table. Our break- 
fast was a substantial fox-hunter's repast, and the 
company generally assembled at it. When am- 
ple justice had been done to the tea, coifee, cold 
meats, and humming ale, for all these were fur- 
nished in abundance, according^ to the tastes of 
the different guests, the conversation began to 
break out with all the liveliness and freslniess of 
morning mirth. 

" But who is the hero of the haunted chamber 
— who has seen the ghost last night ? " said the 
inquisitive gentleman, rolling his lobster -eyea 
about the table. 



THE MYSTERIOUS PIC TUBE. 77 

The question set every tongue in motion ; a 
vast deal of bantering, criticizing of countenances, 
of mutual accusation and retort took place. Some 
had drunk deep, and some were unshaven, so that 
there were suspicious faces enough in the assem- 
bly. I alone could not enter with ease and vi- 
vacity into the joke — I felt tongue-tied, embar- 
rassed. A recollection of Avhat I had seen and 
felt the preceding night still haunted my mind. 
It seemed as if the mysterious picture still held a 
thrall upon me. I thought also that our host's 
eye was turned on me with an air of curiosity. 
In short, I was conscious that I was the hero of 
the night, and felt as if every one might read it 
in my looks. The joke, however, passed over, 
and no suspicion seemed to attach to me. I was 
just congratulating myself on my escape, when a 
servant came in saying, that the gentleman who 
had slept on the sofa in the drawing-room had 
left his watch under one of the pillows. My re- 
peater was in his hand. 

" What ! " said the inquisitive gentleman, " did 
any gentleman sleep on the sofa ? " 

" Soho ! soho ! a hare — a hare ! " cried the old 
gentleman with the flexible nose. 

I could not avoid acknowledging the watch, 
and was rising in great confusion, when a boister- 
ous old squire who sat beside me exclaimed, slap- 
ping me on the shoulder, " 'Sblood, lad, thou art 
the man as has seen the ghost ! " 

The attention of the company was immediately 
turned on me : if my face had been pale the 
•noment before, it now glowed almost to burning 



78 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 

1 tried to laugh, but could only make a grimact), 
and found the muscles of my face twitching at 
sixes and sevens, and totally out of all control. 

It takes but little to raise a laugh among a set 
of fox-hunters ; there was a world of merriment 
and joking on the subject, and as I never relished 
a joke overmuch when it was at my own expense, 
I beo-an to feel a little nettled. I tried to look 

o 

cool and calm, and to restrain my pique ; but the 
coolness and calmness of a man in a passion are 
confounded treacherous. 

" Gentlemen," said I, with a slight cocking of 
the chin and a bad attempt at a smile, " this is al] 
very pleasant — ha ! ha ! — very pleasant — but 
I 'd have you know, I am as little superstitious as 
any of you — ha ! lia ! — and as to anything like 
timidity — you may smile, gentlemen, but I trust 
there 's iio one here means to insinuate, that — as 
to a room's being haunted — I repeat, gentlemen, 
(growing a little warm at seeing a cursed grin 
breaking out round me,) as to a room's being 
haunted, I have as little faith in such silly stories 
as any one. But, since you put the matter hom^ 
to me, I will say that I have met with something; 
in my room strange and inexplicable to me. (A 
shout of laughter.) Gentlemen, I am serious ; 1 
know well what I am saying ; I am calm, gentle 
men, (striking my fist upon the table,) by Heaven, 
I am calm. I am neither trifling, nor do I wish 
to be trifled with. (The laughter of the com- 
pany suppressed, and with ludicrous attempts ?*■ 
gravity.) There is a picture in the room in 
which I was put last night, that luis had an effect 



THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 79 

upon me the most singular and incompreliensi- 
ble." 

" A picture ? " said the old gentleman with the 
haunted head. " A picture ! " cried the narrator 
v'ith the nose. " A picture ! a picture ! " echoed 
several voices. Here there was an ungovernable 
peal of laughter. I could not contain myself. 
I started up from my seat ; looked round on the 
company with fiery indignation ; thrust both of 
my hands into my pockets, and strode up to one 
of the windows as though I would have walked 
through it. I stopped short, looked out upon the 
landscape without distinguishing a feature of it, 
and felt my gorge rising almost to suffocation. 

Mine host saw it was time to interfere. He 
had maintained an air of gravity through the 
whole of the scene ; and now stepped forth, as 
if to shelter me from the overwhelming merri- 
ment of my companions. 

" Gentlemen," said he, " I dislike to spoil sport, 
but you have had your laugh, and the joke of the 
haunted chamber has been enjoyed. I must now 
take the part of my guest. I must not only vin- 
dicate him from your pleasantries, but I must rec- 
oncile him to himself, for I suspect he is a little 
out of humor with his own feelings ; and, above 
idl, I must crave his pardon for having made him 
the subject of a kind of experiment. Yes, gen- 
tlemen, there is something strange and peculiar 
m the chamber to which our friend was shown 
last night ; there is a picture in ray house which 
possesses a singular and mysterious induence, and 
with which there is connected a ve. f curious 



80 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

story. It is a picture to which I attach a value 
from a variety of circumstances ; and though 1 
have often been tempted to destroy it, from the 
odd and uncomfortable sensations which it pro- 
duces in every one that beholds it, yet I have 
never been able to prevail upon myself to make 
the sacrifice. It is a picture I never like to look 
upon myself, and which is held in awe by all my 
servants. I have therefore banished it to a room 
but rarely used, and should have had it covered 
last night, had not the nature of our conversation, 
and the whimsical talk about a haunted cham- 
ber, tempted me to let it remain, by way of ex- 
periment, to see whether a stranger, totally unac- 
quainted with its story, would be affected by it." 
The words of the Baronet had turned- every 
thought into a different channel. All were anx 
ious to hear the story of the mysterious picture ; 
and, for myself, so strangely were my feelings 
interested, that I forgot to feel piqued at the 
experiment my host had made upon my nerves, 
and joined eagerly in the general entreaty. As 
the morning was stormy, and denied all egress, 
my host was glad of any means of entertaining his 
company ; so, drawing his arm-chair towards the 
fire, he began. 




ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS 
STRANGER. 




ANY years since, when I was a yotrng 
man, and had just left Oxford, T was 
sent on the grand tour to finish my edu- 
cation. I believe my parents had tried in vain 
to inoculate me with wisdom ; so they sent me to 
mingle with society, in hopes that I might take it 
the natural way. Such, at least, appears the rea- 
son for which nine-tenths of our youngsters are 
sent abroad. In the course of my tour I remained 
some time at Venice. The romantic character 
of that place delighted me ; I was very much 
amused by the air of adventure and intrigue prev- 
alent in this region of masks and gondolas ; and 
I was exceedingly smitten by a pair of languish- 
ing black eyes, that played upon my heart from 
under an Italian mantle ; so I persuaded m3''self 
that I was lingering at Venice to study men and 
manners ; at least I persuaded my friends so, and 
that answered all my purposes. 

I was a little prone to be struck by peculiari- 
ties in character and conduct, and my imagina- 
tion was so full of romantic associations with 
Italy that I was always on the look-out for 
adventure. Everything chimed in with such a 



82 . TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

humor in this old mermaid of a city. My suite of 
apartments were in a proud, melancholy palace on 
the grand canal, formerly the residence of a mag- 
nifico, and sumptuous with the traces of decayed 
grandeur. My gondolier was one of the shrewd- 
est of his class, active, merry, intelligent, and, like 
his brethren, secret as the grave ; that is to say, 
secret to all the world except liis master. I had 
not had him a week before he put me behind all 
the curtains in Venice. I liked the silence and 
mystery of the place, and when I sometimes saw 
from my window a black gondola gliding myste- 
riously along in the dusk of the evening, with 
nothing visible but its little glimmering lantern, I 
would jump into my own zendeletta, and give a 
signal for pursuit — " But I am running away 
from my subject with the recollection of youthful 
follies," said the Baronet, checking himself. " Let 
us come to the point." 

Among my familiar resorts was a cassino under 
the arcades on one side of the grand square of St. 
Mark. Here I used frequently to lounge and 
take my ice, on those warm summer-nights, when 
in Italy everybody lives abroad until morning. 
I was seated here one evening, when a group of 
Italians took their seat at a table on the oppo- 
site side of the saloon. Their conversation was 
gay and animated, and carried on with Italian 
vivacity and gesticulation. I remarked among 
them one young man, however, who appeared to 
take no share, and find no enjoyment in the con- 
versation, though he seemed to force himself to 
attend to it. He was tall and slender, and of 



THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 88 

extremely prepossessing appearance. His features 
were fine, though emaciated. He had a profusion 
of black glossy hair, that curled lightly about his 
head, and contrasted with the extreme paleness 
of his countenance. His brow was haggard ; deep 
furrows seemed to have been ploughed into his 
visage by care, not by age, for he was evidently 
in the prime of youth. His eye was full of ex- 
pression and fire, but wild and unsteady. He 
seemed to be tormented by some strange fancy or 
apprehension. In spite of every effort to fix his 
attention on the conversation of his companions, 
I noticed that every now and then he would turn 
his head slowly round, give a glance over his 
shoulder, and then withdraw it with a sudden 
jerk, as if something painful met his eye. This 
was repeated at intervals of about a minute, and 
he appeared hardly to have recovered from one 
shock, before I saw him slowly preparing to 
encounter another. 

After sitting some time in the cassino, the party 
paid for the refreshment they had taken, and 
departed. The young man was the last to leave 
the saloon, and I remarked him glancing behind 
him in the same way, just as he passed out of the 
door. I could not resist the impulse to rise and 
follow him ; for I was at an age when a romantic 
feeling of curiosity is easily awakened. The party 
walked slowly down the arcades, talking and 
laughing as they went. They crossed the Pia- 
zetta, but paused in the middle of it to enjoy the 
scene. It was one of those moonlight nights, so 
\>rilliaat and clear in the pure atmosphere of Italy, 



84 TALES OF A I'RAVELLER. 

Tlie moonbeams streamed on the tall tower of St 
Mark, and lighted up the magnificent front and 
swelling domes of the cathedral. The parly 
expressed their delight in animated terms. 1 
kept my eye upon the young man. He alone 
seemed abstracted and self-occupied. I noticed 
the same singular and, as it were, furtive glance 
over the shoulder, which had attracted my atten- 
tion in the cassino. The party moved on, and 
I followed ; they passed along the walk called 
the Broglio, turned the corner of the Ducal Pal- 
ace, and getting iiito the gondola, glided swiftly 
away. 

The countenance and conduct of this young 
man dwelt upon my mind, and interested me 
exceedingly. I met him a day or two afterwards 
in a gallery of paintings. He was evidently a 
connoisseur, for he always singled out the most 
masterly productions, and a few remarks drawn 
from him by his companions showed an intimate 
acquaintance with the art. His own taste, how- 
ever, ran on singular extremes. On Salvator 
Kosa, in his most savage and solitary scenes ; on 
Raphael, Titian, and Correggio, in their softest 
delineations of female beauty ; on these he would 
occasionally gaze with transient enthusiasm. But 
this seemed only a momentary forgetfulness. Still 
would recur that cautious glance behind, and al- 
ways quickly withdrawn, as though something 
terrible met his view. 

I encountered him frequently afterwards at 
the theatre, at balls, at concerts ; at promenades 
in the gardens of San Georgia ; at the grotesque 



THE MYSTERIOUS STRAKGER. 85 

exhibitions in the square of St. Mark ; among 
the throng of merchants on the exchange by tlie 
E-ialto. He seemed, in fact, to seek crowds ; to 
hunt after bustle and amusement ; yet never to take 
any interest in either the business or the gayetyf> 
of the scene. Ever an air of painful thought, of 
wretched abstraction ; and ever that strange and 
recurring movement of glancing fearfully over the 
shoulder. I did not know at first but this might 
be caused by apprehension of arrest ; or, perhaps, 
from dread of assassination. But if so, why 
should he go thus continually abroad ? why expose 
himself at all times and in all places ? 

I became anxious to know this stranger. I was 
drawn to him by that romantic sympathy wJiich 
sometimes draws young men towards each other. 
His melancholy threw a charm about him, no 
doubt heightened by the touching expression of his 
countenance, and the manly graces of his person ; 
for manly beauty has its effect even upon men. 
I had an Englishman's habitual diffidence and 
awkwardness to contend with ; but from frequently 
meeting him in the cassinos, I gradually edged 
myself into his acquaintance. I had no reserve 
on his part to contend with. He seemed, on tlie 
contrary, to court society ; and, in fact, to seek 
anything rather than be alone. 

When he found that I really took an interest 
in him, he threw himself entirely on my friend- 
ship. He clung to me like a drowning man. 
He would walk with me for hours up and down 
the place of St. Mark — or would sit, until night 
■vas far advanced, in my apartments. He tr>o)f 



86 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. ' 

rooms under the same roof with me ; and his con 
stant request was that I woukl permit him, when 
it did not incommode me, to sit by me in my 
saloon. It was not that he seemed to take a par- 
ticular delight in my conversation, but rather that 
he craved the vicinity of a human being ; and, 
above all, of a being that sympathized with him. 
"I have often heard," said he, "of the sincerity 
\)f Englishmen — thank God I have one at length 
for a friend ! " 

Yet he never seemed disposed to avail himself 
of my sympathy other than by mere companion- 
ship. He never sought to unbosom himself to 
me : there appeared to be a settled corroding 
anguish in his bosom that neither could be soothed 
" by silence nor by speaking." 

A devouring melancholy preyed upon his heart, 
and seemed to be drying up the very blood in his 
veins. It was not a soft melancholy, the disease 
of the affections, but a parchmg, withering agony. 
I could see at times that his mouth was dry and 
feverish ; he panted rather than breathed ; his 
eyes were bloodshot ; his cheeks pale and livid ; 
with now and then faint streaks of red athwart 
them, baleful gleams of the fire that was consuming 
his heart. As my arm was within his, I felt him 
press it at times Avith a convulsive motion to his 
side ; his hands would clinch themselves involun- 
tarily, and a kind of shudder would run through 
his frame. 

I reasoned with him about his melancholy, 
sought to draw from him the cause ; he shrunk 
^rom all confidhig : " Do not seek to know it,*' 



TEE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 87 

said lie, " yoa could not relieve it if you knew it ; 
you would riot even seek to relieve it. On the 
contrary, I should lose your sympathy, and that," 
said he, pressing my hand convulsively, " that I 
feel has become too dear to me to risk." 

I endeavored to awaken hope withui him. He 
was young ; life had a thousand pleasures in store 
for him ; there was a healthy reaction in the 
youthful heart ; it medicines all its own wounds ; 
" Come, come," said I, " there is no grief so 
great that youth cannot outgrow it." — " No ! 
no ! " said he, clinching his teeth, and striking 
repeatedly, with the energy of despair, on his bos- 
om, — " it is here ! here ! deep-rooted ; draining 
my heart's blood. It grows and grows, while mj 
heart withers and withers. I have a dreadful 
monitor that gives me no repose — that follows 
me step by step — and will follow me step by 
step, until it pushes me into my grave ! " 

As he said this he involuntarily gave one of 
those fearful glances over his shoulder, and shrunk 
back with more than usual horror. I could not 
resist the temptation to allude to this movement, 
which I supposed to be some mere malady of the 
nerves. The moment I mentioned it, his face 
became crimsoned and convulsed ; he grasped me 
by both hands — 

" For God's sake," exclaimed he, with a pier- 
cing voice, " never allude to that again. — Let us 
avoid this subject, my friend ; you cannot relieve 
ne, indeed you cannot relieve me, but you may 
add to the torments I suffer. — At some future 
lay you shall know all." 



88 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

I never resumed the subject ; for howevei 
much my curiosity might be roused, I felt too true 
a compassion for his sufferings to increase them 
by my intrusion. I sought various ways to di- 
vert his mind, and to arouse him from the con- 
stant meditations in which he was plunged. He 
saw my efforts, and seconded them as far as in his 
power, for there was nothing moody or wayward 
in his nature. On the contrary, there was some- 
thing frank, generous, unassuming, in his whole 
deportment. All the sentiments he uttered were 
noble and lofty. He claimed no indulgence, asked 
no toleration, but seemed content to carry his load 
of misery in silence, and only sought to carry it 
by my side. There was a mute beseechitig man- 
ner about him, as if he craved companionship as 
a charitable boon ; and a tacit thankfulness in his 
looks, as if he felt grateful to me for not- repuls- 
ing him. 

I felt this melancholy to be infectious. It 
stole over my spirits ; interfered with all my gay 
pursuits, and gradually saddened my life ; yet I 
could not prevail upon myself to shake off a be- 
ing who seemed to hang upon me for support. 
In truth, the generous traits of character which 
beamed through all his gloom penetrated to my 
heart. His bounty was lavish and open-handed ; 
his charity melting and spontaneous ; not confined 
to mere donations, which humiliate as much as 
they relieve. The tone of his voice, the , beam 
of his eye, enhanced every gift, and surprised the 
poor suppliant with that rarest and sweetest of 
charities, the charity not merely of the hand, but 



THE MYSTERIOUS STEAMER. 89 

of the heart. Indeed his Hberality seemed to 
have something in it of self-abasement and ex- 
piation. He, in a manner, humbled himself 
before the mendicant. "What right have I to 
ease and affluence " — would he murmur to him- 
self — " when innocence wanders in misery and 
rags ? " 

The carnival-time arrived. I hoped the gay 
scenes then presented miglit have some cheering 
effect. I mingled with him in the motley throng 
that crowded the place of St. Mark. Yle fre- 
quented operas, masquerades, balls — all in vain. 
The evil kept grooving on him. He became 
more and more haggard and agitated. Often, af- 
ter we had returned from one of these scenes of 
revelry, I have entered his room and found him 
lying on his face on the sofa ; his hands clinched 
in his fine hair, and his whole countenance bear- 
ing traces of the convulsions of his mind. 

The carnival passed away ; the time of Lent 
succeeded ; passion-week arrived ; we attended 
one evening a solemn service in one of the 
churches, in the course of which a grand piece 
of vocal and instrumental music was performed 
relating to the death of our Saviour. 

I had remarked that he was always powerfully 
affected by music ; on this occasion he was so 
in an extraordinary degree. As the pealing 
notes swelled through the lofty aisles, he seemed 
to kindle with fervor ; his eyes rolled upwards, 
until nothing but the whites were visible ; his 
hands were clasped together, until the fingers 
^ere deeply imprinted in the tiesh. When the 



90 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

music expressed the dying agony, his face gradu- 
ally sank upon his knees ; and at the touching 
words resounding through the church, " Jesu 
mori,^' sobs burst from him uncontrolled — I 
had never seen him weep before. His had al- 
ways been agony rather than sorrow. I augured 
well from the circumstance, and let him weep on 
uninterrupted. When the service was ended, we 
left the church. He hung on my arm as we 
walked homewards with something of a softer 
and more subdued manner, instead of that ner- 
vous agitation I had been accustomed to witness. 
He alluded to the service we had heard. " Mu- 
sic," said he, " is indeed the voice of heaven ; 
never before have I felt more impressed by the 
story of the atonement of our Saviour. — Yes, 
my friend," said he, clasping his hands with a 
kind of transport, " I know that my Redeemer 
liveth ! " 

We parted for the night. His room was not 
far from mine, and I heard him for some time 
busied in it. I fell asleep, but was awakened be- 
fore daylight. The young man stood by my bed- 
side, dressed for travelling. He held a sealed 
packet and a large parcel in his hand, which he 
laid on the table. 

" Farewell, my friend," said he, " I am about 
to set forth on a long journey ; but, before I go, 
I leave with you these remembrances. In this 
packet you will find the particulars of my story. 
When you read them 1 shall be far away ; do 
not remember me with aversion. — You have 
been indeed a frieni to me. — You have poured 



THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 91 

oil into a broken heart, but you could not heal it. 
Farewell ! let me kiss your hand — I am un- 
worthy to embrace you." He sank on his knees, 
seized my hand in despite of my efforts to tlie 
contrary, and covered it with kisses. I was so 
surprised by all the scene, that I had not been 
ible to say a word. — " But we shall meet 
again," said I, hastily, as I saw him hurrying to- 
wards the door. " Never, never, in this world ! " 
said he, solemnly. — He sprang once more to my 
bedside — seized my hand, pressed it to liis heart 
and to his lips, and rushed out of the room. 

Here the Baronet paused. He seemed lost in 
thought, and sat looking upon the tloor, and 
drumming with his fino^ers on the arm of his 
chair, 

"And did this mysterious personage return ? " 
said the inquisitive gentleman. 

" Never ! " replied the Baronet, with a pensive 
shake of the head, — "I never saw him again." 

" And pray what has all this to do with the 
picture ?" inquired the old gentleman with the 
nose. 

" True," said the questioner ; " is it the por- 
trait of that crack-brained Italian ? " 

" No," said the Baronet, dryly, not half liking 
the appellation given to his hero ; " but this pic- 
ture was enclosed in the parcel he left with me. 
The sealed packet contained its explanation. 
There was a request on the outside that I would 
not open it until six months had elapsed. I kept 
my promise in spite of my curiosity. I have 
a translation of it by me, and had meant to read 



92 



TALES OF A TRA^jlLLER. 



it, by way of accounting for the mystery of the 
chamber ; but I fear I have ah-eady detained the 
company too long." 

Here there was a general wish expressed to 
have the manuscript read, particuhirly on the part 
of the inquisitive gentleman ; so the worthy Bar- 
onet drew out a fairly-written manuscript, and, 
wiping his spectacles, read aloud the following 
story. — 




THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 




WAS born at Naples. My parents, 
though of noble rank, were limited in 
fortune, or rather, my father was osten- 
tatious beyond his means, and expended so much 
on his palace, his equipage, and his retinue, that 
he was continually straitened in his pecuniary 
circumstances. I was a younger son, and looked 
upon with indifference by my father, who, from a 
principle of family-pride, wished to leave all his 
property to my elder brother. I showed, when 
quite a child, an extreme sensibility. Every- 
thing affected me violently. While yet an infant 
in my mother's arms, and before I had learned to 
talk, I could be wrought upon to a wonderful de- 
gree of anguish or delight by the power of music. 
As I grew older, my feelings remained equally 
acute, and I was easily transported into parox- 
ysms of pleasure or rage. It was the amusement 
of my relations and of the domestics to play upon 
this irritable temperament. I was moved to tears, 
tickled to laughter, provoked to fury, for the en- 
tertainment of company, who were amused by 
Buch a tempest of mighty passion in a pigmy 
frame ; — they little thought, or perhaps little 
heeded the dangerous sensibilities they were fos- 



94 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

tering. I thii9 became a little creature of pas* 
sion before reason was developed. In a short 
time I grew too old to be a plaything, and then 
I became a torment. The tricks and passions I 
had been teased into became irksome, and I was 
disliked by my teachers for the very lessons they 
had taught me. My mother died ; and my 
power as a spoiled child was at an end. There 
was no longer any necessity to humor or tolerate 
me, for there was nothing to be gained by it, as I 
was no favorite of my father. I therefore expe- 
rienced the fate of a spoiled child in such a situ- 
ation, and was neglected, or noticed only to be 
crossed and contradicted. Such was the early 
treatment of a heart, which, if I can judge of it 
at all, was naturally disposed to the extremes of 
tenderness and affection. 

My father, as I have already said, never liked 
me — in fact, he never understood me ; he looked 
upon me as wilful and wayward, as deficient in 
natural affection. It was the stateliness of his 
own manner, the loftiness and grandeur of his 
own look, which had repelled me from his arms. 
I always pictured him to myself as I had seen 
him, clad in his senatorial robes, rustling with 
pomp and pride. The magnificence of his person 
daimted my young imagination. I could never 
approach him with the confiding affection of a 
child. 

My father's feehngs were wrapt up in my 
elder brother. He was to be the inheritor of the 
family-title and the family-dignity, and every- 
thing was sacrificed to him — I, as well as every- 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 95 

thing else. It was determined to devote me to 
the Church, that so my humors and myself might 
be removed out of the way, either of tasking my 
father's time and trouble, or interfering with tlie 
interests of my brother. At an early age, there- 
fore, before my mind had dawned upon the world 
and its delights, or known anything of it beyond 
the precincts of my father's palace, I was sent to 
a convent, the superior of which was my uncle, 
and was confided entirely to his care. 

My uncle was a man totally estranged from the 
world : he had never relished, for he had never 
tasted its pleasures ; and he regarded rigid self- 
denial as the great basis of Christian virtue. 
He considered every one's temperament like his 
own ; or at least he made them conform to it. 
His character and habits had an influence over 
the fraternity of which he was superior : a more 
gloomy, saturnine set of beings were never assem- 
bled together. The convent, too, was calcidated 
to awaken sad and solitary thoughts. It was 
situated in a gloomy gorge of those mountains 
away south of Vesuvius. All distant views were 
shut out by sterile volcanic heights. A moun- 
tain-stream raved beneath its walls, and eagles 
screamed about its turrets. 

I had been sent to this place at so tender an 
age as soon to lose all distinct recollection of the 
scenes I had left behind. As my mind expanded, 
therefore, it formed its idea of the world from the 
convent and its vicinity, and a dreary world it 
appeared to me. An early tinge of melancholy 
was thus infused into my character ; and the dis- 



96 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

mal stories of the monks, about devils and evil 
spirits, with which they 'affrighted my young im- 
agination, gave me a tendency to superstition 
which I could never effectually shake off. They 
took the same delight to work upon my ardeni 
feelings, that had been so mischievously executed 
by my father's household. I can recollect the 
horrors mth which they fed my heated fancy 
during an eruption of Vesuvius. We were dis- 
tant from that volcano, with mountains between 
us ; but its convulsive throes shook the solid foun- 
dations of nature. Earthquakes threatened to 
topple down our convent-towers. A lurid, bale- 
ful light hung in the heavens at night, and show- 
ers of ashes, borne by the wind, fell in our nai*- 
row valley. The monks talked of the earth being 
honey-combed beneath us ; of streams of molten 
lava raging through its veins ; of caverns of sul- 
phurous flames roaring in the centre, the abodes 
of demons and the damned ; of fiery gulfs ready 
to yawn beneath our feet. All these tales were 
told to the doleful accompaniment of the moun- 
tain's thunders, whose low bellowing made the 
walls of our convent vibrate. 

One of the monks had been a painter, but had 
retired from the world, and embraced this dismal 
life in expiation of some crime. He was a mel- 
ancholy man, who pursued his art in the solitude 
of his cell, but made it a source of penance to 
him. His employment was to portray, either on 
canvas or in waxen models, the human face and 
human form, in the agonies of death, and in all 
the stages of dissolution and decay. The fearful 



TEE YOUNG ITALIAN. 97 

mysteries of the charnel-house were unfolded in 
his labors ; the loathsome banquet of the beetle 
and the worm. I turn with shuddering even 
from the recollection of his works ; yet, at the 
time, my strong but ill-directed imagination seized 
with ardor upon his instructions in his art. Any- 
thing was a variety from the dry studies and 
monotonous duties of the cloister. In a little 
while I became expert with my pencil, and my 
gloomy productions were thought worthy of dec- 
orating some of the altars of the chapel. 

In this dismal way was a creature of feeling 
and fancy brought up. Everything genial and 
amiable in my nature was repressed, and nothing 
brought out but what was unprofitable and ungra- 
cious. I was ardent in my temperament ; quick, 
mercurial, impetuous, formed to be a creature all 
love and adoration ; but a leaden hand was laid 
on all my finer qualities. I was taught nothing 
but fear and hatred. I hated my uncle. I hated 
the monks. I hated the convent in which I was 
imnmred. I hated the world ; and I almost 
hated myself for being, as I supposed, so hating 
and hateful an animal. 

Wlien I had nearly attained the age of six- 
teen, I was sufix3red, on one occasion, to accom- 
pany one of the brethren on a mission to a dis- 
tant part of the country. We soon left behind 
us the gloomy valley in Avhich I had been pent 
up for so many years, and after a short journey 
among the mountains, emerged upon the volup- 
tuous landscape that spreads itself about the Bay 
of Naples. Heavens ! how transported was I, 



98 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

when I stretched my gaze over a vast reach of 
delicious sunny country, gay with groves and 
vineyards : with Vesuvius rearing its forked 
summit to my right ; the blue Mediterranean 
to my left, with its enchanting coast, studded 
with shining towns and sumptuous villas ; and 
Naples, my native Naples, gleaming far, far in 
the distance. 

Good God ! was this the lovely world from 
which I had been excluded ! I had reached that 
age 'when the sensibilities are in all their bloom 
and freshness. Mine had been checked and 
chilled. They now burst forth with the sudden- 
ness of a retarded spring-time. My heart, hith- 
erto unnaturally shrunk up, expanded into a riot 
of vague but delicious emotions. The beauty of 
nature intoxicated — bewildered me. The song 
of the peasants ; their cheerful looks ; their hap- 
py avocations ; the picturesque gayety of their 
dresses ; their rustic music ; their dances ; all 
broke upon me like witchcraft. My soul re- 
sponded to the music, my heart danced in my 
bosom. All the men appeared amiable, all the 
women lovely. 

I returned to the convent ; that is to say, my 
body returned, but my heart and soul never en- 
tered there again. I could not forget this glimpse 
of a beautiful and a happy world — a world so 
suited to my natural character. I had felt so 
happy while in it ; so different a being from what 
I felt myself when in the convent — that tomb 
of the living I contrasted the countenances of 
the beings I had seen, full of fire and freshnesa 



TEE YOUNG ITALIAN. 99 

and enjoyment, with the pallid, leaden, lack-lustre 
visages of the monks : the dance with the dron- 
ing chant of the chapel. I had before found the 
exercises of the cloister wearisome, they now be- 
came intolerable. The dull round of duties wore 
away my spirit ; my nerves became irritated by 
the fretful tinkling of the convent-bell, evermore 
dinging amoiig the mountain-echoes, evermore 
calling me from my repose at night, my pencil by 
day, to attend to some tedious and mechanical 
ceremony of devotion. 

I was not of a nature to meditate long without 
putting my thoughts into action. My spirit had 
been suddenly aroused, and was now all awake 
within me. I watched an opportunity, fled from 
the convent, and made my way on foot to Na- 
ples. As I entered its gay and crowded streets, 
and beheld the variety and stir of life around me, 
the luxury of palaces, the splendor of equipages, 
and the pantomimic animation of the motley pop- 
ulace, I seemed as if awakened to a world of en- 
chantment, and solemnly vowed that nothing 
should force me back to the monotony of the 
cloister. 

I had to inquire my way to my father's palace, 
for I had been so young on leaving it that I 
knew not its situation. I found some difficulty 
in getting admitted to my father's presence ; for 
the domestics scarcely knew that there was such 
a being as myself in existence, and my monastic 
dress did not operate in my favor. Even my 
father entertained no recollection of my person. 
I told him my name, threw myself at his feet 



10( TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

implored his forgiveness, and entreated that I 
might not be sent back to the convent. 

He received me with the condescension of a 
patron, rather than the fondness of a parent ; lis- 
tened patiently, but coldly, to my tale of monastic 
grievances and disgusts, and promised to think 
what else could be done for me. This coldness 
blighted and drove back all the frank affection of 
my nature, that was ready to spring forth at the 
least warmth of parental kindness. All my early 
feelings towards my father revived. I again 
looked up to him as the stately magnificent be- 
ing that had daunted my childish imagination, 
and felt as if I had no pretensions to his sym- 
pathies. My brother engrossed all his care and 
love ; he inherited his nature, and carried him- 
self towards me with a protecting rather than a 
fraternal air. It wounded my pride, which was 
great. I could brook condescension from my 
father, for I looked up to him with awe, as a 
superior being ; but I could not brook patronage 
from a brother, who I felt was intellectually my 
inferior. The servants perceived that I was an 
unwelcome intruder m the paternal mansion, and, 
menial-like, they treated me with neglect. Thus 
baffled at every point, my affections outraged 
wherever they would attach themselves, I be- 
came sullen, silent, and desponding. My feel- 
mgs, driven back upon myself, entered and preyed 
upon my own heart. I remained for some days 
an unwelcome guest rather than a restored son 
in my father's house. I was doomed never to 
be properly known there. I was made, by wrong 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 101 

treatment, strange even to myself, and they judged 
of me from my strangeness. 

I was startled one day at the sight of one of 
the monks of my convent glidhig out of my fa- 
ther's room. He saw me, but pretended not to 
notice me, and this very hypocrisy made me sus- 
pect something. I had become sore and sus- 
ceptible in my feelings, everything inflicted a 
wound on them. In this state of mind, I was 
treated with marked disrespect by a pampered 
minion, the favorite servant of my father. All 
the pride and passion of my nature rose in an 
instant, and 1 struck him to tlie earth. My fa- 
ther was passing by ; he stopped not to inquire 
the reason, nor indeed could he read the long 
course of mental sufferings which were the real 
cause. He rebuked me with, anger and scorn ; 
summoning all the haughtiness of his nature and 
grandeur of his look to give weight to the con- 
tumely with which he treated me. I felt that I 
had not deserved it. I felt that I was not ap- 
preciated. I felt that I had that within me 
which merited better treatment. My heart 
swelled against a father's injustice. I broke 
through my habitual awe of him — I replied to 
him with impatience. My hot spirit flushed in 
my cheek and kindled in my eye ; but my sensi- 
tive heart swelled as quickly, and before 1 had 
iialf vented my passion, I felt it suffocated and 
quenched in my tears. My father was astonished 
and incensed at this turning of the worm, and 
ordered me to my chamber. I retired in silence, 
«hokinf]c with contending' emotions. 



102 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

I had not been Ions: there when I overheard 
voices in an adjoining apartment. It was a con- 
sultation between my father and the monk, about 
the means of getting me back quietly to the 
convent. My resolution was taken. I had no 
longer a home nor a father. That very night I 
left the paternal roof. I got on board a vessel 
about making sail from the harbor, and abandoned 
myself to the wide world. No matter to what port 
she steered ; any part of so beautiful a world was 
better than my convent. No matter where I was 
cast by fortune ; any place would be more a 
home to me than the home I had left behind. 
The vessel was bound to Genoa. We arrived 
there after a voyage of a few days. 

As I entered the harbor between the moles 
which embrace it, and beheld the amphitheatre 
of palaces, and churches, and splendid gardens, 
rising one above another, I felt at once its title 
to the appellation of Genoa the Superb. I landed 
on the mole an utter stranger, without knowing 
what to do, or whither to direct my steps. No 
matter : I was released from the thraldom of the 
convent and the humiliations of home. When I 
traversed the Strada Balbi and the Strada Nuova, 
those streets of palaces, and gazed at the wonders 
of architecture around me ; when I wandered at 
close of day amid a gay throng of the brilliant 
and the beautiful, through the green alleys of the 
Aqua Yerde, or among the colonnades and ter- 
races of the magnificent Doria gardens ; I thought 
it impossible to be ever otherwise than happy in 
Gecoa. A few days sufficed to show me my 



lEE YOUNG ITALIAN. 108 

mistake. My scanty purse was exhausted, and 
for the first time in my life I experienced the 
sordid distress of penury. I had never known 
the want of money, and had never adverted to 
the possibility of such an evil. I was ignorant 
of the world and all its ways ; and when first the 
idea of destitution came over my mind, its effect 
was withering. I was wandering pennilesb 
through the streets which no longer delighted my 
eyes, when chance led my steps into the magnifi- 
cent church of the Annunciata. 

A celebrated painter of the day was at that 
moment superintending the placing of one of his 
pictures over an altar. The proficiency which I 
had acquired in his art during my residence in 
die convent, had made me an enthusiastic ama- 
teur. I was struck, at the first glance, with the 
painting. It was the face of a Madonna. So in- 
nocent, so lovely, such a divine expression of 
maternal tenderness ! I lost, for the moment, all 
recollection of myself in the enthusiasm of my 
art. I clasped my hands together, and uttered 
an ejaculation of delight. The painter perceived 
my emotion. He was flattered and gratified by 
it. My air and manner pleased him, and he ac- 
costed me. I felt too much the want of friendship 
to repel the advances of a stranger; and there 
was somethino; in this one so benevolent and win • 
ning, that in a moment he gained my confidence^ 

I told him my story and my situation, conceal- 
ing only my name and rank. He appeared strong- 
ly interested by my recital, invited me to his house, 
and from that time I became his favorite pupil 



104 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

He tliought he perceived in me extraordinary 
talents for the art, and his encomiums awakened 
all mj ardor. What a blissful period of my ex- 
istence was it that I passed beneath his roof ! 
Another being seemed created within me ; or 
rather, all that was amiable and excellent was 
drawn out. I was as recluse as ever I had been at 
the convent, but how different was my seclusion ! 
My time was spent in storing my mind with lofty 
and poetical ideas ; in meditating on all that was* 
striking and noble in history and fiction ; in study- 
ing and tracing all that was sublime and beauti- 
ful in nature. I was always a visionary, imagi- 
native being, but now my reveries and imaginaigs 
all elevated me to rapture. I looked up to n^y 
master as to a benevolent genius that had opened 
to me a region of enchantment. He was no^ a 
native of Genoa, but had been drawn thither by 
the solicitations of several of the nobility, and had 
resided there but a few years, for the completion 
of certain works. His health was delicate, and 
he had to confide much of the filling up of his de- 
signs to the pencils of his scholars. He considered 
me as particularly happy in delineating the hu- 
man countenance ; in seizing upon characteristic 
though fleeting expressions, and fixing them pow- 
erfully upon my canvas. I was employed con- 
tinually, therefore, in sketching faces, and often, 
when some particular grace or beauty of expres- 
sion was wanted in a countenance, it was intrusted 
to my pencil. My benefactor was fond of bring- 
ing me forward ; and partly, perhaps, through my 
actual skill, and partly through his partial praises, 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 105 

t began to be noted for the expressions of my 
countenances. 

Among the various works which he had under- 
taken, was an historical piece for one of the pal- 
aces of Genoa, in which were to be introduced 
tlie likenesses of several of the family. Among 
these ~^as one intrusted to my pencil. It was 
that of a young girl, as yet in a convent for her 
education. She came out for the purpose of sit- 
ting for the picture. I first saw her in an apart- 
ment of one of the sumptuous palaces of Genoa. 
She stood before a casement that looked out upon 
the bay ; a stream of vernal sunshine fell upon 
her, and shed a kind of glory round her, as it lit 
up the rich crimson chamber. She was but six- 
teen years of age — and oh, how lovely ! The 
scene broke upon me like a mere vision of spring 
and youth and beauty. I could have fallen down 
and worshipped her. She was like one of those 
fictions of poets and painters, when they would 
express the heau ideal that haunts their minds 
with shapes of indescribable perfection. I was 
permitted to watch her countenance in various 
positions, and I fondly protracted the study that 
was undoing me. The more I gazed on her, the 
more I became enamoured ; there was something 
almost painful in my intense admiration. I was 
but nineteen years of age, shy, diffident, and in- 
experienced. I was treated with attention by 
her mother ; for my youth and my enthusiasm in 
my art had won favor for me ; and I am inclined 
to think something in my air and manner inspired 
interest and respect. Still the kiiuhiess with 



106 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

which I was treated could not dispel the embar- 
rassment into which my own imagination threw 
me when in presence of this lovely being. It el- 
evated her into something almost more than mor- 
tal. She seemed too exquisite for earthly use ; too 
delicate and exalted for human attainment. As 
I sat tracing her charms on my canvas, with my 
eyes occasionally riveted on her features, 1 drank 
in delicious poison that made me giddy. My 
heart alternately gushed with tenderness, and 
ached with despair. Now I became more than 
ever sensible of the violent fires that had lain dor- 
mant at the bottom of my soul. You who were 
born in a more temperate climate, and under a 
cooler sky, have little idea of the violence of pas- 
sion in our southern bosoms. 

A few days finished my task. Bianca returned 
to her convent, but her image remained indelibly 
impressed upon my heart. It dwelt in my im- 
agination ; it became my pervading idea of 
beauty. It had an effect even upon my pencil. 
I became noted for my felicity in depicting female 
loveliness : it was but because I multiplied the im- 
age of Bianca. I soothed and yet fed my fancy 
by introducing her in all the productions of my 
master. I have stood, with delight, in one of the 
chapels of the Annunciata, and heard the crowd 
extol the seraphic beauty of a saint which I had 
painted. I have seen them bow down in adora- 
tion before the painting ; they were bowing be- 
fore the loveliness of Bianca. 

I existed in this kind of dream, I might almost 
«5ay delirium, for upwards of a year. Such is the 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN: 107 

tenacity of my imagination, that the image formed 
in it continued in all its poAver and freshness. 
Indeed, I was a solitary, meditative being, much 
given to reverie, and apt to foster ideas whicli 
had once taken strong possession of me. I was 
roused from this fond, melancholy, delicious dream 
by the death of my worthy benefactor. I cannot 
describe the pangs his death occasioned me. It 
left me alone, and almost broken-hearted. He 
bequeathed to me his little property, which, from 
the liberality of his disposition, and his expensive 
style of living, was indeed but small ; and he most 
particularly recommended me, in dying, to the 
protection of a nobleman who had been his patron. 

The latter was a man who passed for munifi- 
cent. He was a lover and an encourasrer of the 
arts, and evidently wished to be tliought so. He 
fancied he saw in me indications of future excel- 
lence ; my pencil had already attracted attention ; 
he took me at once under his protection. Seeing 
that I was overwhelmed with grief, and incapable 
of exerting myself in the mansior. of my late ben- 
efactor, he invited me to sojourn for a time at a 
villa which he possessed on the border of the sea, 
in the picturesque neighborhood of Sestri di Pn- 
nente. 

I found at the villa the count's only son, Fi- 
lippo. He was nearly of my age ; pi-epossessing 
in his appearance, and fascinating in his manners, 
he attached himself to me, and seemed to court 
my good opinion. I thought there was some- 
ihing of profession in his kindness, and of caprice 
in his disposition ; but I had notliing else near 



108 TAi^Eti OF A TkA VFLf Eli. 

me to attach myselt co, and my neart tel' the 
iie-jd of something to repose upon, riis edaca- 
tion nad been neglected ; he looked upon me as 
his superior in mental powers and acquirements, 
and tacitly acknowledged ray superiority. I felt 
that I was his equal in birth, and that gave inde- 
pendence to my manners, which had its effect. 
The caprice and tyranny I saw sometimes exer- 
cised on others, over whom he had power, were 
never manifested towards me. We became inti- 
mate friends and frequent companions. Still I 
loved to be alone, and to indulge in the reveries 
of my own imagination among the scenery by 
which I was surrounded. The villa commanded 
a wide view of the INIediterranean, and of the 
picturesque Ligurian coast. It stood alone in the 
midst of ornamented grounds, finely decorated 
with statues and fountains, and laid out in groves 
and alleys and shady lawns. Everything was 
assembled here that could gratify the taste, or 
agreeably occupy the mind. Soothed by the 
tranquillity of this elegant retreat, the turbulence 
of my feelings gradually subsided, and blending 
with the romantic spell which still reigned over 
my imagination, produced a soft, voluptuous mel- 
ancholy. 

I had not been long under the roof of the 
count, when our solitude was enlivened by another 
inhabitant. It was a daughter of a relative of 
the count, who had lately died in reduced circum- 
stances, bequeathing this only child to his protec- 
tion. I had heard much of her beauty from 
Filippo, but my fancy had become so engrossed 



THE YOUNG ITA1.IAN. lOS 

by one idea of beautj, as not to admit of any 
other. We were in the central saloon of the 
villa when she arrived. She was still in mourn - 
hig, and approached, leaning on the count's arm. 
As they ascended the marble portico, I was struck 
by the elegance of her figure and movement, by 
the grace with which the mezzaro, the bewitching 
\eil of Genoa, was folded about her slender form. 
They entered. Heavens ! what was my surprise 
when J beheld Bianca before me ! It was her- 
self ; pale with grief, but still more matured in 
loveliness than when I had last beheld her. The 
time that had elapsed had developed the graces 
of her person, and the sorrow she had undergone 
had diffused over her countenance an irresistible 
tenderness. 

She blushed and trembled at seeing me, and 
tears rushed into her eyes, for she remembered in 
whose company she had been accustomed to be- 
hold me. For my part, I cannot express what 
were my emotions. By degrees I overcame the 
extreme shyness that had formerly paralyzed me 
in her presence. We were drawn together by 
sympathy of situation. We had each lost our 
best friend in the world ; we were each, in some 
measure, thrown upon the kindness of others. 
When I came to know her intellectually, all my 
ideal picturings of her were confirmed. Her 
newness to the world, her delightful susceptibility 
to everything beautiful and agreeable in nature, 
reminded me of my own emotions when first I 
escaped from thp convent. Her rectitude of 
thinking delighted my judgment; the sweetnesa 



110 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

of her nature wrapped itself round my heait; 
and then her young, and tender, and budding 
loveliness, sent a delicious madness to my brain. 

I gazed upon her with a kind of idolatry, as 
something more than mortal ; and I felt humili- 
ated at the idea of my comparative unworthiness. 
Yet she was mortal ; and one of mortality's most 
susceptible and loving compounds ; — for she 
loved me ! 

How first I discovered the transporting truth 
I cannot recollect. I believe it stole upon me by 
degrees as a wonder past hope or belief. We 
were both at such a tender and loving age ; in 
constant intercourse with each other ; mingling 
in the same elegant pursuits, — for music, poe- 
try, and painting were our mutual delights ; and 
we were almost separated from society among 
lovely and romantic scenery. Is it strange that 
two young hearts, thus brought together, should 
readily twine round each other ? 

Oh, gods I what a dream — a transient dream 
of unalloyed delight, then passed over my soul ! 
Then it was that the world around me was indeed 
a paradise ; for I had woman — lovely, delicious 
woman, to share it with me ! How often have I 
rambled along the picturesque shores of Sestri, 
or climbed its wild mountains, with the coast 
gemmed with villas, and the blue sea far below 
me, and the slender Faro of Genoa on its roman- 
tic promontory in the distance ; and as I sus- 
tained the faltering steps of Bianca, have thought 
there could no unhappiness enter into so beautiful 
a world ! How often have we listened together 



TEE YOUNG ITALIAN 1\\ 

to the wightingale, as it poured forth its rich 
notes among the moonUght bowers of the garden, 
and have wondered that poets could ever have 
fancied anything melancholy in its song ! Why, 
oh why is this budding season of life and tender* 
ness so transient! why is this rosy cloud of love, 
that sheds such a glow over the morning of cur 
days, so prone to brew up into the whirlwind and 
the storm ! 

I was the first to awaken from this blissful 
dehrium of the affections. I had gained Bianca's 
heart, what was I to do with it? I had no 
wealth nor prospect to entitle me to her hand ; was 
I to take advantage of her ignorance of the world, 
of her confiding affection, and draw her down to 
my own poverty ? Was this requiting the hos- 
pitality of the count ? was this requiting the love 
of Bianca? 

Now first I began to feel that even successful 
love may have its bitterness. A corroding care 
gathered about my heart. I moved about the 
palace like a guilty being. I felt as if I had 
abused its hospitality, as if I were a thief within 
its walls. I could no longer look with unembar- 
rassed mien in the countenance of the count. ] 
accused myself of perfidy to him, and I thought 
he read it in my looks, and began to distrust and 
despise me. His manner had always been osten- 
tatious and condescending ; it now appeared cold 
and haughty. Filippo, too, became reserved and 
distant ; or at least I suspected him to be so. 
Heavens ! was this the mere coinage of my 
brain? Was T to become suspicious of all thg 



112 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

world ? a poor, surmising wretch ; watching looks 
and gestures ; and torturing myself with miscon- 
structions ? Or, if true, was I to remain beneath 
a roof where I was merfily tolerated, and linger 
there on sufferance ? " This is not to be en- 
dured ! " exclaimed 1 : "I will tear myself from 
this state of self-abasement — I will break through 
this fascination, and fly — Fly ! — Whither ? from 
the world ? for where is the world when I leave 
Bianca behind me ? " 

My spirit was naturally proud, and swelled 
within me at the idea of being looked upon with 
contumely. Many times I was on the point of 
declaring my family and rank, and asserting my 
equality in the presence of Bianca, when I 
thought her relations assumed an air of superi- 
ority. But the feeling was transient. I consid- 
ered myself discarded and condemned by my 
family ; and had solemnly vowed never to own 
relationship to them until they themselves should 
claim it. 

The struggle of my mind preyed upon my 
happiness and my health. It seemed as if the 
uncertainty of being loved would be less intoler- 
able than thus to be assured of it, and yet not 
dare to enjoy the conviction. I was no longer 
the enraptured admirer of Bianca ; I no longer 
hung in ecstasy on the tones of her voice, nor 
drank in with insatiate gaze the beauty of her 
countenance. Her very smiles ceased to delight 
me, for I felt culpable in having won them. 

She could not but be sensible of the change in 
me, and inquired the cause with her usual frank- 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 113 

ness and simplicity. I could not evade the iu- 
quiry, for my heart was full to aching. I told 
her all the conflict of my soul ; my devouring 
passion, my bitter self-upbraiding. " Yes," said 
1, " 1 am unworthy of you. I am an offcast from 
ray family — a wanderer — a nameless, homeless 
wanderer — with nothing but poverty for my 
portion ; and yet I have dared to love you — 
have dared to aspire to your love." 

My agitation moved her to tears, but she saw 
nothing in my situation so hopeless as I had de- 
picted it. Brought up in a convent, she knew 
nothing of the world — its wants — its cares : 
and indeed what woman is a worldly casuist 
in the matters of the heart ? Nay, more, she 
kindled into sweet enthusiasm when she spoke of 
my fortunes and myself We had dwelt together 
on the works of the famous masters. I related 
to her their histories ; the high reputation, the 
influence, the magnificence to -which they had 
attained. The companions of princes, the favor- 
ites of kings, the pride and boast of nations. 
All this she applied to me. Her love saw nothing 
in all their great productions that I was not able 
to achieve ; and when I beheld the lovely creat- 
ure glow with fervor, and her whole countenance 
radiant with visions of my glory, I was snatched 
up for the moment into the heaven of her own 
imagination. 

I am dwelling too long upon this part of my 
story ; yet I cannot help lingering over a period 
of my life on which, Avith all its cares and con-. 
flicts, T look back with fondness, for as yet my 



114 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

soul was imstained by a crime. I do not know 
what might have been the result of this struggle 
between pride, delicacy, and passion, had I not 
read in a Neapolitan gazette an account of the 
sudden death of my brother. It was accompa- 
nied by an earnest inquiry for intelligence con- 
cerning me, and a prayer, should this meet my 
eye, that I would hasten to Naples to comfort an 
infirm and afflicted father. 

I was naturally of an affectionate disposition, 
but my brother had never been as a brother to me. 
I had long considered myself as disconnected from 
him, and his death caused me but little emotion. 
The thoughts of my father, infirm and suffering, 
touched me, however, to the quick : and when I 
thought of him, that lofty, magnificent being, now 
bowed down and desolate, and suing to me for 
comfort, all my resentment for past neglect was 
subdued, and a glow of filial affection was awak- 
ened within me. 

The predominant feeling, however, that over- 
powered all others, was transport at the sudden 
change in my whole fortunes. A home, a name, 
rank, wealth, awaited me ; and love painted a 
still more rapturous prospect in the distance. I 
hastened to Bianca, and threw myself at her feet. 
" Oh, Bianca ! " exclaimed I, " at length I can 
claim you for my own. I am no longer a name- 
less adventurer, a neglected, rejected outcast. 
Look — read — behold the tidin^-s that restore 
me to my name and to myself! " 

I will not dwell on the scene that ensued. 
Bianca rejoiced in the reverse of my situation* 



THE YOVNG ITALIAN. 115 

because she saw it lightened my heart of a load 
of care ; for her own part, she had loved me for 
myself, and had never doubted that my own 
merits would command both fame and fortune. 

I now felt all my native pride buoyant within 
me. I no longer walked with my eyes bent to 
the dust; hope elevated them to the skies — my 
Eoul \vas lit up with fresh fires, and beamed from 
my countenance. 

1 wished to impart the change in my circum- 
stances to the count ; to let him know who and 
what I was — and to make formal proposals for 
the hand of Bianca ; but he Avas absent on a dis- 
tant estate. I opened my whole soul to Filippo. 
Now first I told him of my passion, of the doubts 
and fears that had distracted me, and of the tid- 
ings that had suddenly dispelled them. He over- 
whelmed me with congratulations, and with the 
warmest expi'essions of sympathy ; 1 embraced 
him in the fulness of my heart ; — I felt com- 
punctious for having suspected him of coldness, 
and asked his forgiveness for ever having doubted 
his friendsliip. 

Nothing is so warm and enthusiastic as a 
sudden expansion of the heart between young 
men. Filippo entered into our concerns with the 
most eager intei'est. He was our confidant ami 
counsellor. It was determined that I shoidtl 
hasten at once to Naples, to reestablish myself in 
my father's affections, and my paternal home ; and 
the moment the reconciliation was effected, and 
my father's consent insiux'd, I should return and 
demand Bianca of the count. Filippo (Migaged tr 



116 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

seeiire his father's acquiescence ; indeed he under- 
took to watch over our interest, and to be the 
channel through which we might correspond. 

My parting witli Bianca was tender — deli- 
cious — agonizing. It was in a little pavilion of 
tlie garden which had been one of our favorite 
resorts. How often and often did I return to 
have one more adieu, to have her look once more 
on me in speechless emotion ; to enjoy once 
more the I'apturous sight of those tears streaming 
down her lovely cheeks ; to seize once more on 
that delicate hand, the frankly accorded pledge of 
love, and cover it with tears and kisses ? Heav- 
ens ! there is a deliglit even in the parting agony 
of two lovers, worth a thousand tame pleasures 
of the world. I have her at this moment before 
my eyes, at the window of the pavilion, putting 
aside the vines which clustered about the case- 
ment, her form beaming forth in virgin light, her 
countenance all tears and smiles, sending a thou- 
sand and a thousand adieus after me, as hesitating, 
in a delii'iimi of fondness and agitation, I faltered 
my way down the avenue. 

As the bark bore me out of the harbor of 
Genoa, how eagerly my eye stretched along the 
coast of Sestri till it discovered the villa gleaming 
from among the trees at the foot of the mountain. 
As long as day lasted I gazed and gazed upon 
it, till it lessened and lessened to a mere white 
speck in the distance ; and still my intense and 
fixed gaze discerned it, when all other objects of 
the coast had blended into indistinct confusion, or 
were lost in the evening gloom. 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 117 

On arriving at Naples, I hastened to my pater- 
nal home. My heart yearned for the" long- with- 
held blessing of a father's love. As 1 entered 
the proud portal of the ancestral palace, my 
emotions were so great that I could not speak. 
No one knew me, tlie servants gazed at me with 
curiosity and surprise. A ^e^Y years of intellec- 
tual elevation and development had made a pro- 
digious change in the poor fugitive stripling from 
the convent. Still, that no one should know me 
in my rightful home was overpowering. I felt 
like the prodigal son returned. I was a stranger 
in the house of my father. I burst into tears and 
wept aloud. When I made myself known, how- 
ever, all was changed. I, who had once been 
almost repulsed from its walls, and forced to fly 
as an exile, was welcomed back with acclamation, 
with servility. One of the servants hastened to 
prepare my father for my reception ; my eager- 
ness to receive the paternal embrace was so great 
that I could not await his return, but hurried after 
him. What a spectacle met my eyes as I entered 
the chamber ! My father, whom I had left in the 
pride of vigorous age, whose noble and majestic 
bearing had so awed my young imagination, was 
bowed down and withered into decrepitude. A 
paralysis had ravaged his stately form, and left it 
a shaking ruin. He sat propped up in his chair, 
Tvith pale, relaxed visage, and glassy, wandering 
eye. His intellects had evidently shared in the 
»*avages of his frame. The servant was endeav- 
oring to make him comprehend that a visitor was 
at hand. I tottered up to him, and sank at hia 



118 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

feet. All his past coldness and neglect were for- 
gotten in Iiis present sufferings. I remembered 
only that he was my parent, and that I had 
deserted him. I clasped his knee : my voice 
was almost filled with convulsive sobs. " Pardon 
— pardon ! oh ! my father ! " was all that I could 
utter. His apprehension seemed slowly to return 
to him. He gazed at me for some moments with 
a vague, inquiring look ; a convulsive tremor 
quivered about his lips ; he feebly extended a 
shaking hand ; laid it upon my head, and burst 
into an infantine flow of tears. 

From that moment he would scarcely spare me 
from his sight. I appeared the only object that 
his heart responded to in die world ; all else was 
as a blank to him. He had almost lost the power 
of speech, and the reasoning faculty seemed at an 
end. He was mute and passive, excepting that 
fits of childlike weeping would sometimes come 
over him without any immediate cause. If I left 
the room at any time, his eye was incessantly 
fixed on the door till my return, and on my en- 
trance there was another gush of tears. 

To talk with him of all my concerns, in this 
ruined state of mind, would have been worse than 
useless ; to have left him for ever so short a 
time would have been cruel, unnatural. Here 
then was a new trial for my affections. I wrote 
to Bianca an account of my return, and of my 
actual situation, painting in colors vivid, for they 
were true, the torments I suffered at our being 
thus separated ; for the youthful lover every day 
of absence is an age of love lost. I enclosed tha 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 119 

letter in one to Filippo, who was the channel of 
Dur correspondence. 1 received a reply from him 
full of friendship and sympathy ; from Bianca, 
full of assurances of affection and constancy. 
Week after week, month after month elapsed, 
without making any change in my circumstances. 
The vital flame which had seemed nearly extinct 
when first I met my father, kept fluttering on 
without any apparent diminution. I watched him 
constantly, faithfully, I had almost said patiently. 
I knew that his death alone would set me free — 
yet I never at any moment wished it. I felt 
too glad to be able to make any atonement for 
past disobedience ; and denied, as I had been, all 
endearments of relationship in my early days, 
my heart yearned towards a father, who in his 
age and helplessness had thrown himself entirely 
on me for comfort. 

My passion for Bianca gained daily more force 
from absence : by constant meditation it wore 
itself a deeper and deeper channel. I made no 
new friends nor acquaintances ; sought none of 
the pleasures of Naples, which my rank and for- 
tune threw open to me. Mine was a heart that 
confined itself to few objects, but dwelt upon them 
with the intenser passion. To sit by my father, 
administer to his wants, and to meditate on Bian- 
ca in the silence of his chamber, was my constant 
habit. Sometimes I amused myself with my pen- 
cil, in portraying the image ever present to my 
imagination. I transferred to canvas every look 
and smile of hers that dwelt in my heart. I showed 
them to my father, in hopes of awakening an 



120 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

interest in his bosom for the mere shadow of my 
love ; but he was too far sunk in intellect to take 
any notice of them. When I received a letter 
from Bianca, it was a new source of solitary lux- 
luy. Her letters, it is true, were less and less fre- 
quent, but they were always full of assurances of 
unabated affection. They breathed not the frank 
and innocent warmth with which she expressed 
herself in conversation, but I accounted for it from 
the embarrassment whicii inexperienced minds 
have often to express themselves upon paper. Fi- 
lippo assured me of her unaltered constancy. They 
both lamented, in the strongest terms, our contin- 
ued separation, though they did justice to the fil- 
ial piety that kept me by. my father's side. 

Nearly two years elapsed in this protracted 
exile. To me they were so many ages. Ardent 
and impetuous by nature, I scarcely know how 
I should have supported so long an absence, had 
I not felt assured that the faith of Bianca was 
equal to my own. At length my father died. 
Life went from him almost imperceptibly. I 
hung over him in mute affliction, and watched the 
expiring spasms of nature. His last faltering 
accents whispered repeatedly a blessing on me. 
Alas ! how has it been fulfilled ! 

When I had paid due honors to his remains, 
and laid them in the tomb of our ancestors, 1 
arranged briefly my affairs, put them in a pos- 
ture to be easily at my command from a distance, 
and embarked once more with a bounding heart 
for Genoa. 

Our voyage was propitious, and oh ! what was 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 121 

niy rapture, when first, in the dawn of morning, 1 
saw the shadowy summits of the Apennines ris- 
ing almost like clouds above the horizon ! The 
sweet breath of summer just moved us over the 
lono; waverinof billows that were rollinoj us on 
towards Genoa. ^stBy degrees the coast of Sestri 
rose like a creation of enchantment from the silver 
bosom of the deep. I beheld the line of villages 
and palaces studding its borders. My eye re- 
verted to a well-known point, and at length, from 
the confusion of distant objects, it singled out the 
villa which contained Bianca. It was a mere 
speck in the landscape, but glimmering from afar, 
the polar star of my heart. 

Again I gazed at it for a livelong summer's 
day, but oh ! how different the emotions between 
departure and return. It now kept growing and 
growing, instead of lessening and lessening on 
my sight. My heart seemed to dilate with it. I 
looked at it through a telescope. I gradually de- 
fined one feature after another. The balconies of 
the central saloon where first I met Bianca be- 
neath its roof; the terrace where we so often had 
passed the delightful summer evenings ; the awn- 
ing which shaded her chamber-window ; I almost 
fancied I saw her form beneath it. Could she 
but know her lover was in the bark whose white 
sail now gleamed on the sunny bosom of the sea ] 
My fond impatience increased as we neared the 
coast ; the ship seemed to lag lazily over the 
billows ; I could almost have sprang into the sea, 
and swam to the desired shore. 

The shadows of evening gradually shrouded 



122 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

the scene ; but the moon arose in all her fulness 
and beauty, and shed the tender light so dear 
to lovers, over the romantic coast of Sestri. 
My soul was bathed in unutterable tenderness. 
I anticipated the heavenly evenings I should pass 
in once more wandering with,, Bianca by the 
light of that blessed moon. 

It was late at night before we entered the har- 
bor. As early next morning as I could get re- 
leased from the formalities of landing, I threw 
myself on horseback, and hastened to the villa. 
As I galloped round the rocky promontory on 
which stands the Faro, and saw the coast of Ses- 
tri opening upon me, a thousand anxieties and 
doubts suddenly sprang up in my bosom. There 
is something fearful in returning to those we love, 
while yet uncertain what ills or changes absence 
may have effected. The turbulence of my agita- 
tion shook my very frame. I spurred my horse 
to redoubled speed ; he was covered with foam 
when we both arrived panting at the gateway that 
opened to the grounds around the villa. I left 
my horse at a cottage, and walked through the 
grounds, that I might regain tranquillity for the 
approaching interview. I chid myself for havmg 
suffered mere doubts and surmises thus suddenly 
to overcome me ; but I was always prone to be 
carried away by gusts of the feelings. 

On entering the garden, everything bore the 
same look as when 1 had left it ; and this un- 
changed aspect of things reassured me. There 
were the alleys in which I had so often walked 
with Bianca, as we listened to the song of the 



TEE YOUNG ITALIAN. 123 

nightingale ; the same shades under which we 
had so often sat during the noontide heat. There 
were the same flowers of which she was so 
fond ; and which appeared still to be under the 
ministry of her hand. Everything looked and 
breathed of Bianca ; hope and joy flushed in my 
bosom at every step. I passed a little arbor, in 
which we had often sat and read together ; — a 
book and glove lay on the bench ; — it was Bian- 
ca's glove ; it was a volume of the " Metastasio " I 
had given her. The glove lay in my favorite 
passage. I clasped them to my heart with rap- 
ture. " All is safe ! " exclaimed I ; " she loves 
me, she is still my own ! " 

I bounded lightly along the avenue, down which 
I had faltered slowly at my departure. I beheld 
her favorite pavilion, which had witnessed our 
parting-scene. The window was open, with the 
same vine clambering about it, precisely as when 
she waved and wept me an adieu. O how trans- 
porting was the contrast in my situation ! As I 
passed near the pavilion, I heard the tones of a 
female voice : they thrilled through me with an 
appeal to my heart not to be mistaken. Before 
I could think, I felt they were Biauca's. For 
an instant I paused, overpowered with agitation. 
I feared to break so suddenly upon her. I softly 
ascended the steps of the pavilion. The door 
was open. I saw Bianca seated at a table ; her 
back was towards me, she was warbling a soft 
nielajicholy air, and was occupied in drawing. 
A glance sufficed to show me that she was copying 
one of my own paintings. I gazed on her for a 



124 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

moment in a delicious tumult of emotions. She. 
paused in her singing : a heavy sigh, almost a 
sob, followed. I could no longer contain mysel£ 
" Bianca ! " exclaimed I, in a half-smothered 
voice. She started at the sound, brushed back 
the ringlets that hung clusteriijg about hef face, 
darted a glance at me, uttered a piercing shriek, 
and would have fallen to the earth, had I not 
caught her in my arms. 

" Bianca ! my own Bianca ! " exclaimed I, fold- 
ing her to my bosom, my voice stifled in sobs of 
convulsive joy. She lay in my arms without 
sense or motion. Alarmed at the effects of my 
precipitation, I scarce knew what to do. I 
tried by a thousand endearing words to call her 
back to consciousness. She slowly recovered, 
and half opened her eyes. — " Where am I ? " 
murmured she faintly. " Here ! " exclaimed I, 
pressing her to my bosom, " here — close to the 
heart that adores you — in the arms of your 
faithful Ottavio ! " " Oh no ! no ! no ! " shrieked 
she, starting into sudden life and terror, — " away I 
away ! leave me I leave me ! " 

She tore herself from my arms ; rushed to a 
corner of the saloon, and covered her face with 
her hands, as if the very sight of me were bale- 
ful. I was thunderstruck. I could not believe 
my senses. I followed her, trembling — eon- 
founded. I endeavored to take her hand ; but 
she shrunk from my very touch with horror. 

" Good heavens, Bianca ! " exclaimed I, " what 
is the meaning of this ? Is this my reception 
after so long an absence ? Is this the love you 
professed for me ? " 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 125 

At the mention of love, a. sliuddering ran 
tJirouofh her. She turned to me a face wild with 
anguish ; " No more of that — no more of that ! " 
gasped she : " talk not to me of love — I — I — 
am married ! " 

I reeled as if I had received a mortal blow — 
a sickness struck to my very heart. I caught 
at a window-frame for support. For a moment 
or two everything was chaos around me. When 
I recovered, I beheld Bianca lying on a sofa, her 
face buried in the pillow, and sobbing convul- 
sively. Indignation for her fickleness for a mo- 
ment overpowered every other feeling. 

"• Faithless ! perjured ! " cried I, striding across, 
the room. But another fjlance at that beau- 
tiful being in distress checked all my wrath. 
Anger could not dwell together with her idea in 
my soul. 

^' Oh ! Bianca," exclaimed I, in anguish, " could 
I have dreamt of this ? Could I have suspected 
you would have been false to me ? " 

She raised her face all streaming with tears, 
all disordered with emotion, and gave me one ap- 
pealing look. " False to you ? — They told me 
you were dead ! " 

" What," said I, '•' in spite of our constant cor- 
respondence ? " 

She gazed wildly at me : " Correspondence '" 
wliat correspondence ! " 

" Have you not repeatedly received and replied 
to my letters ? " 

She clasped her hands with solemnity and fer- 
vor. '' As 1 hope for mercy — never ! " 



126 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

A horrible surmise shot tlu-ough my brain. 
" Who told you I was dead ? " 

" It was reported that the ship in which you 
embarked for Naples perished at sea." 

" But* who told you the report ? " 

She paused for an instant, and trembled ; — 
" Filippo ! " 

" May the God of heaven curse liim ! " eried 
1, extending my clinched fists aloft. 

" Oh do not curse him, do not curse him ! " 
exclaimed she, " he is — he is — my husband ! " 

This was all that was wanting to unfold the 
perfidy that had been practised upon me. My 
blood boiled like liquid fire in my veins. I 
gasped with rage too great for utterance — I re- 
mained for a time bewildered by the whirl of hor- 
rible thoughts that rushed through my mind. 
The poor victim of deception before me thought 
it was with her I was incensed. She faintly mur- 
mured forth her exculpation. I will not dwell 
upon it. I saw in it more than she meant to re- 
veal. I saw with a glance how both of us had 
been betrayed. 

" 'T is well," muttered I to myself m smothered 
accents of concentrated fury. " He shall render 
an account of all this." 

Bianca overheard me. New terror fiashed in 
hei* countenance. " For mercy's sake, do not 
meet him ! — say nothing of what has passed — 
for my sake say nothing to him — I only shall 
be the sufferer ! " 

A new suspicion darted aci'oss my mind. — 
" What ! " exchiimed I, " do j^ou i\nin fear him ? 



TUE YOUNG ITALIAN. 12? 

IS ho unkind to you ? Tell me," reiterated I, 
grasping her hand, and looking her eagerly in the 
face, " tell me — dares he to use you harshly ? " 

" No ! no ! no ! " cried she, faltering and em- 
barrassed ; but the glance at her face had told vol- 
umes. I saw in her pallid and wasted features, 
in the prompt terror and subdued agony of her 
eye, a whole history of a mind broken down by 
tyranny. Great God 1 and was this beauteous 
flower snatched from me to be thus trampled 
upon ? The idea roused me to madness. I 
clinched my teeth and hands ; I foamed at the 
mouth ; every passion seemed to have resolved 
itself -into the fury that like a lava boiled within 
my heart. Bianca shrunk from me in speechless 
affright. As I strode by the window, my eye 
darted down the alley. Fatal moment ! I beheld 
Filippo at a distance ! my brain was in delirium 
— I sprang from the pavilion, and was before him 
with the quickness of lightning. He saw me as 
I came rushing upon him — he turned pale, 
looked wildly to right and left, as if he would 
have fled, and trembling, drew his sword. 

" Wretch ! " cried I, " well may you draw your 
weapon ! " 

I spoke not another word — I snatched forth 
a stiletto, put by the sword which trembled in 
his hand, and buried my poniard in his bosom. 
He fell with the blow, but my rage was unsated. 
I sprang upon him with the blood-thirsting feel- 
ing of a tiger ; redoubled my blows ; mangled 
him in my frenzy, grasped him by the throat, 
ontil, with reiterated wounds and strangling con- 



128 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

vuisions, he expired in my grasp. I remained 
glaring on the countenance, horrible in death, 
that seemed to stare back with its protruded eyes 
upon me. Piercing shi-ieks roused me from my 
delirium. I looked round and beheld Bianca fly- 
ing distractedly towards us. My brain whirled 
— I waited not to meet her ; but iled from the 
scene of horror. I fled forth from the garden 
like another Cain, — a hell within my bosom, 
and a curse upon my head. I fled without know- 
ing whither, almost without knowing why. My 
only idea was to get farther and farther from the 
horrors I had left behind ; as if I could throw 
space between myself and my conscience. I fled 
to the Apennines, and wandered for days and 
days among their savage heights. How I existed, 
I cannot tell ; what rocks and precipices I braved, 
and how I braved them, I know not. I kept on 
and on, trying to out-travel the curse that clung 
to me. Alas ! the shrieks of Bianca rung forever 
in my ears. The horrible countenance of my 
victim was forevei' before my eyes. The blood 
of Filippo cried to me from the ground. Rocks, 
trees, and torrents, all resounded with my crime. 
Then it was I felt how much more insupportable 
is the anguish of remorse than every other men- 
tal pang. Oh ! could I but have cast otF this 
crime that festered in my heart — could I but 
have regained the innocence that reigned in my 
breast as I entered the garden at Sestri — could I 
have but restored my victim to life, I felt as if I 
could look on with transport, even though Bianca 
were in his arms. 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 129 

By degrees tliis frenzied fever of remorse set- 
tled into a permanent malady of the mind — into 
one of the most horrible that ever poor wretch 
was cursed with. Wherever I went, the coun- 
tenance of him I had slain appeared to follow 
me. Whenever I turned my head, I beheld it 
behind me, hideous with the contortions of the 
dying moment. I have tried in every way to 
escape from this horrible phantom, but in vain. 
I know not whether it be an illusion of the mind, 
ihe consequence of my dismal education at the 
convent, or whether a phantom really sent by 
Heaven to punish me, but there it ever is — at 
all times — in all places. Nor has time nor habit 
had any effect in familiarizmg me with its ter- 
rors. I have travelled from place to place — 
plunged into amusements — tried dissipation and 
distraction of every kind — all — all in vain. I 
once had recourse to my pencil, as a desperate 
experiment. I painted an exact resemblance of 
this phantom - face. I placed it before me, in 
hopes that by constantly contemplating the copy, 
I might diminish the effect of the original. But 
T only doubled instead of diminishing the misery. 
vSuch is the curse that has clung to my foot- 
steps — that has made my life a burden, but the 
thought of death terrible. God knows what I 
have suffered — what days and days, and nights 
and nights of sleepless torment — what a never- 
dying worm has preyed upon my heart — what an 
unquenchable fire has burned within my brain ! 
He knows the wrongs that wrought upon my 
poor weak nature ; that converted the tenderest 
9 



180 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

of affections into the deadliest of fury. He knows* 
best whether a frail erring creature has expiated 
by long-enduring torture and measureless remorse 
the crime of a moment of madness. Often, often 
have I prostrated myself in the dust, and im- 
plored that he would give me a sign of his for- 
giveness, and let me die 

Thus far had I written some time since. I 
had meant to leave this record of misery and 
crime with you, to be read when I should be no 
more. 

My prayer to Heaven has at length been 
heard. You were witness to my emotions last 
evening at the church, when the vaulted temple 
resounded with the words of atonement and re- 
demption. I heard a voice speaking to me from 
the midst of the music ; I heard it rising above the 
pealing of the organ and the voices of the choir 
— it spoke to me in tones of celestial melody — 
it promised mercy and forgiveness, but demanded 
from me full expiation. I go to make it. To- 
morrow I shall be on my way to Genoa, to sur- 
render myself to justice. You who have pitied 
my sufferings, who have poured the balm of sym- 
pathy into my wounds, do not shrink from my 
memory with abhorrence nov/ that you know my 
story. Recollect, that when you read of my 
crime I shall have atoned for it with my blood ! 

When the Baronet had finished, there was a 
aniversal deske expressed to see the painting of 
this frightful visage. After much entreaty the 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 131 

Baronet consented, on condition that they should 
only visit it one by one. He called his house- 
keeper, and gave her charge to conduct the gen- 
tlemen, singly, to the chamber. They all re- 
turned varying in their stories : some aJOfected 
in one way, some in another ; some more, some 
less ; but all agreeing that there was a certain 
something about the painting that had a very 
odd effect upon the feelings. 

I stood in a deep bow-wmdow with the Bar- 
onet, and could not help expressing my wonder. 
" After all," said I, " there are certain mysteries 
in our nature, certain inscrutable impulses and in- 
fluences, which warrant one in being superstitious. 
Who can account for so many persons of different 
characters being thus strangely affected by a mere 
painting ? " 

"And especially when not one of them has 
seen it ? " said the Baronet, with a smile. 

" How ! " exclaimed I, " not seen it ? " 

" Not one of them ! " replied he, laying his 
finger on his lips, in sign of secrecy. " I saw 
that some of them were in a bantering vein, and 
did not choose that the memento of the poor 
Italian should be made a jest of. So I gave the 
housekeeper a hint to show them all to a differ- 
ent chamber ! " 

Thus end the stories of the Nervous Gentle- 
man. 



PART SECOND. 



BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS 



This world is the best that we live iu, 

To lend, or to spend, or to give in ; 

But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own, 

'T is the very worst world, sir, that ever was known. 

Lines from an Inn Windov* 




LITERARY LIFE. 




MONG other subjects of a traveller's 
curiosity, I had at one time a great crav- 
ing after anecdotes of literary life ; and 
being at London, one of the most noted places 
for the production of books, I was excessively 
anxious to know something of the animals which 
produced them. Chance fortunately threw me 
in tiae way of a literary man by the name of 
Buckthorne, an eccentric personage, who had 
lived much in the metropolis, and could give me 
the natural history of every odd animal to be met 
with in that wilderness of men. He readily im- 
parted to me some useful hints upon the subject 
of my inquiry. 

" The literary world," said he, " is made up of 
little confederacies, each looking upon its own 
members as the lights of the universe ; and con- 
sidering all others as mere transient meteors, 
doomed soon to fall and be forgotten, while its 
own luminaries are to shine steadily on to immor- 
tality." 

" And pray," said I, " how is a man to get a 

•peep into those confederacies you speak of? I 

presume an intercourse with authors is a kind of 

intellectual exchange, where one must bring his 



136 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

commodities to barter, and always give a quid 
fro quo" 

" Pooh, pooh ! how you mistake," said Buck- 
thorne, smiling ; " you must never think to be- 
come popular among wits by shining. They go 
into society to shine themselves, not to admire the 
brilliancy of others. I once thought as you do, 
and never went into literary society without 
studying my part beforehand ; the consequence 
was, that I soon got the name of an intolerable 
proser, and should in a little while have been com- 
pletely excommunicated, had I not changed my 
plan of operations. No, sir, no character succeeds 
BO well among wits as that of a good listener ; or 
if ever you are eloquent, let it be when tete-a-tete 
with an author, and then in praise of his own 
works, or, what is nearly as acceptable, in dis- 
paragement of the works of his contemporaries. 
If ever he speaks favorably of the productions 
of a particular friend, dissent boldly from him ; 
pronounce his friend to be a blockhead ; never 
fear his being vexed. Much as people speak of 
the irritability of authors, I never found one to 
take offence at such contradictions. No, no, sir, 
authors are particularly candid in admitting the 
faults of their friends. 

" Indeed, I would advise you to be exceed- 
ingly sparing of remarks on all modern Avorks, 
except to make sarcastic observations on the 
most distinguished writers of the day." 

" Faith," said I, " I '11 praise none that have* 
not been dead for at least half a century." 

" Even then," observed Mr. Buckthorne, '* T 



LITERARY LIFE. 137 

would advise you to be rather cautious ; for you 
must know that many old writers have been en- 
listed under the banners of different sects, and 
their merits have become as completely topics of 
party discussion as the merits of living statesmen 
and politicians. Nay, there have been whole 
periods of literature absolutely taboo'd, to use a 
South Sea phrase. It is, for example, as much 
as a man's critical reputation is worth in some 
circles, to say a word in praise of any of the 
writers of the reign of Charles the Second, or 
even of Queen Anne, they being all declared 
Frenchmen in disguise." 

" And pray," said I, " when am I then to 
know that I am on safe grounds, being totally 
unacquainted with the literary landmarks, and 
the boundary-line of fashionable taste." 

" Oh ! " replied he, " there is fortunately one 
tract of literature which forms a kind of neutral 
ground, on which all the literary meet amicably, 
and run riot in the excess of their good-humor ; 
and this is in the reigns of Elizabeth and James. 
Here you may praise away at random. Here it 
is ' cut and come again ' ; and the more obscure 
the author, and the more quaint and crabbed his 
style, the more your admiration will smack of the 
real relish of the connoisseur; whose taste, like 
that of an epicure, is always for game that has 
an antiquated flavor. 

" But," continued he, " as you seem anxious 

■ 'jo know something of literary society, I will take 

an opportunity to introduce you to some coterie. 

where the talents of the day are assembled. 1 



138 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

cannot promise you, however, that they will al\ 
be of the first order. Somehow or other, our 
great geniuses are not gregarious ; they do not go 
in flocks, but fly singly in general society. They 
prefer mingling like common men with the multi- 
tude, and are apt to carry nothing of the author 
about them but the reputation. It is only the 
inferior orders that herd together, acquire strength 
and importance by their confederacies, and bear 
all the distinctive characteristics of their species." 





A LITERARY DINNER. 




FEW days after this conversation with 
Mr. Buckthorne, he called upon me, and 
took me with him to a regular literary 
dinner. It was given by a great bookseller, or 
rather a company of booksellers, whose firm sur- 
passed in length that of Shadrach, Meshech, and 
Abednego. 

I was surprised to find between twenty and 
thirty guests assembled, most of whom I had 
never seen before. Mr. Buckthorne explained 
this to me, by informing me that this was a busi- 
ness-dinner, or kind of field-day which the house 
gave about twice a year to its authors. It is 
true they did occasionally give snug dinners to 
three or four literary men at a time ; but then 
these were generally select authors, favorites of 
the public, such as had arrived at theu^ sixth or 
seventh editions. " There are," said he, " certain 
geographical boundaries in the land of literature, 
and you may judge tolerably well of an author's 
popularity by the wine his bookseller gives him. 
An author crosses the port line about the third 
edition, and gets into claret ; and when he has 
reached the sixth or seventh, he may revel in 
champagne and burgundy." 



140 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

" And pray," said I, " how far may these gen* 
tlemen have reached that I see around me ? are 
any of these claret-drmkers ? " 

" Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these 
great dinners the common steady run of authors, 
one or two edition men ; or if any others are in- 
.vited, they are aware that it is a kind of republi- 
can meeting, — you understand me — a meeting 
of the republic of letters ; and that they must 
expect nothing but plain, substantial fare." 

These hints enabled me to comprehend more 
fully the arrangement of the table. The two ends 
were occupied by two partners of the house ; and 
the host seemed to have adopted Addison's idea 
as to the literary precedence of his guests. A 
popular poet had the post of honor ; opposite to 
whom was a hot-pressed traveller in quarto with 
plates. A grave-looking antiquarian, who had 
produced several solid works, that were much 
quoted and little read, was treated with great re- 
spect, and seated next to a neat, dressy gentleman 
in black, who had written a thin, genteel, hot- 
pressed octavo on political economy, that was get- 
ting into fashion. Several three-volumed duodec- 
imo men, of fair currency, wei'e placed about the 
centre of the table ; while the lower end was 
taken up with small poets, translators, and au- 
thors who had not as yet risen into much noto- 
riety. 

The conversation during dinner was by fits and 
starts ; breaking out here and there in various 
parts of the table in small flashes, and ending in 
smoke. The poet, who had the confidence of a 



A LITERARY DINNER. 141 

man on good terms with the world, and indepen- 
dent of his bookseller, was very gay and brilliant; 
and said many clever things which set the partner 
next him in a roar, and delighted all the com- 
pany. The other partner, however, maintained 
his sedateness, and kept carving on, with the air 
of a thorough man of business, intent upon the 
occupation of the moment. His gravity was 
explained to me by my friend Buckthorne. He 
informed me that the concerns of the house were 
admirably distributed among the partners. " Thus, 
for instance," said he, " the grave gentleman is 
the carving partner, who attends to the joints ; 
and the other is the laughing partner, who at- 
tends to the jokes." 

The general conversation was chiefly carried 
on at the upper end of the table, as the authors 
there seemed to possess the greatest courage of 
the tongue. As to the crew at the lower end, if 
they did not make much figure in talking, they 
did in eating. Never was there a more deter- 
mined, inveterate, thoroughly sustained attack on 
the trencher than by this phalanx of masticators. 
"When the cloth was removed, and the wine be- 
gan to circulate, they grew very merry and jocose 
among themselves. Their jokes, however, if by 
chance any of them reached the upper end of the 
table, seldom produced much effect. Even the 
laughing partner did not think it necessary to 
honor them with a smile ; which my neighbor 
Buckthorne accounted for, by informing me that 
ihere was a certain degree of popularity to be 
obtained before a bookseller could afford to laugh 
at an author's jokes. 



142 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Among this crew of questionable gentlemen 
thus seated below the salt, my eje singled out 
one in particular. He was rather shabbily 
dressed ; though he had evidently made the most 
of a rusty black coat, and wore his shirt - frill 
plaited and puffed out voluminously at the bosom. 
His face was dusky, but florid, perhaps a little 
too florid, particularly about the nose ; though the 
rosy hue gave the greater lustre to a twinkling 
black eye. He had a little the look of a boon 
companion, with that dash of the poor devil in it 
which gives an inexpressible mellow tone to a 
man's humor. I had seldom seen a face of richer 
promise ; but never was promise so ill kept. He 
said nothing, ate and drank with the keen appe- 
tite of a garreteer, and scarcely stopped to laugh, 
even at the good jokes from the upper end of 
the table. I inquired who he was. Buckthorne 
looked at him attentively : " Gad," said he, " I 
have seen that face before, but where I cannot 
recollect. He cannot be an author of any note. 
I suppose some writer of sermons, or grinder of 
foreign travels." 

After dinner we retired to another room to take 
tea and coffee, where we were reinforced by a 
cloud of inferior guests, — authors of small vol- 
umes in boards, and pamphlets stitched in blue pa- 
per. These had not as yet arrived to the impor- 
tance of a dinner-invitation, but were invited oc- 
casionally to pass the evening in a friendly way. 
They were very respectful to the partners, and, 
indeed, seemed to stand a Httle in awe of them ; 
but they paid devoted court to the lady of tho 



A LITERARY DINNER. 14a 

house, and were extravagantly fond of the chil- 
dren. Some few, who did not feel confidence 
enough to make such advances, stood shyly off in 
corners, talking to one another ; or turned over 
the portfolios of prints which they had not seen 
above five thousand times, or moused over the 
music on the forte-piano. 

The poet and the thin octavo gentleman were 
the persons most current and at their ease in the 
drawing-room ; being men evidently of circulation 
in the West End. They got on each side of the 
lady of the house, and paid her a thousand com- 
pliments and civilities, at some of which I thought 
she would have expired with delight. Every- 
thing they said and did had the odor of fashion- 
able life. I looked round in vain for the poor- 
devil author in the rusty black coat ; he had 
disappeared immediately after leaving the table, 
having a dread, no doubt, of the glaring light of 
a drawing-room. Finding nothing further to 
interest my attention, I took my departure soon 
after coffee had been served, leaving the poet, 
and the thin, genteel, hot-pressed octavo gentle- 
man, masters of the field. 




THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 




THINK it was the very next evening 
that, in coming out of Covent Garden 
Theatre with my eccentric friend Buck- 
thorne, he proposed to give me another peep at 
life and character. Finding me willing for any 
research of the kind, he took me through a vari- 
ety of the narrow courts and lanes about Covent 
Garden, until we stopped before a tavern, from 
which we heard the bursts of merriment of a 
jovial party. There would be a loud peal of 
laughter, then an interval, then another peal, as 
if a prime wag were telling a story. After a lit- 
tle while there was a song, and at the close of 
each stanza a hearty roar, and a vehement thump- 
ing on the table. 

" This is . the place," whispered Buckthorne ; 
" it is the club of queer fellows, a great resort of 
the small wits, third-rate actors, and newspaper 
critics of the theatres. Any one can go in on 
paying a sixpence at the bar for the use of the 
club." 

We entered, therefore, without ceremony, and 
took our seats at a lone table, in a dusky corner 
of the room. The club was assembled round a 



THE CLUB OF QDEER FELLOWS. 145 

table, on wliich stood beverages of various tinds, 
according to tiie tastes of the individuals. The 
members were a set of queer fellows indeed ; but 
what was my surprise on recognizing, in the 
prime wit of the meeting, the poor-devil author 
whom I had remarked at the booksellers' dumer 
for his promising face and his complete taciturn- 
ity. Matters, however, were entirely changed 
with him. There he was a mere cipher ; here he 
was lord of the ascendant, the choice spirit, the 
dominant genius. He sat at the head of the table 
with his hat on, and an eye beaming even more 
luminously than his nose. He had a quip and a 
fillip for every one, and a good thing on every 
occasion. Nothing could be said or done without 
eliciting a spark from him : and I solemnly de- 
clare I have heard much worse wit even from no- 
blemen. His jokes, it must be confessed, were 
rather wet, but they suited the circle over which 
he presided. The company were in that maud- 
lin mood, when a little wit goes a great way. 
Every time he opened his lips there was sure to 
be a roar ; and even sometimes before he had 
time to speak. 
. We were fortunate enough to enter in time 
for a glee composed by him expressly for the 
club, and which he sung with two boon compan- 
ions, who would have been worthy subjects for 
Hogarth's pencil. As they were each provided 
wilh a written copy, I was enabled to procure 
*l)e reading of it. 

" Merrily, merrilj push round the glass, 
And merrily troll the glee, 
10 



146 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

For he who won't drink till he wink, is an aas, 
So, neighbor, I drink to thee. 

" MeiTilj, memly fuddle thy nose, 

Until it right rosy shall be; 
For a jolly red nose, I speak under the rose, 

Is a sign of good company." 

We waited until the party broke up, and no 
one but the wit remained. He sat at the table 
with his legs stretched under it, and wide apart ; 
his hands in his breeches - pockets ; his head 
drooped upon his breast ; and gazing with lack- 
lustre countenance on an empty tankard. Hi.« 
gayety was gone, his fire completely quenched. 

My companion approached, and startled him 
from his fit of brown study, introducing himself 
on the strength of their having dined together at 
the booksellers'. 

" By the way," said he, " it seems to me I 
have seen you before ; your face is surely that of 
an old acquaintance, though for the life of me I 
cannot tell where I have known you." 

" Very likely," replied he, with a smile ; 
" many of my old friends have forgotten me. 
Though, to tell the truth, my memory in this in- 
stance is as bad as your own. If, however, it 
will assist your recollection in any way, my name 
is Thomas Dribble, at your service." 

" What ! Tom Dribble, who was at old Birch- 
ell's school in Warwickshire ? " 

" The same," said the other, coolly. 

" Why, then, we are old schoolmates, though 
it 's no wonaer you don't recollect me. I watv 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 147 

your junior by several years ; don't you recol- 
lect little Jack Bucktliorne ? " 

Here there ensued a scene of school-fellow rec- 
ognition, and a world of talk about old school- 
times and school-pranks. Mr. Dribble ended by 
observing, with a heavy sigh, " that times were 
sadly changed since those days." 

" Faith, Mr. Dribble," said I, " you seem quite 
a different man here from what you were at din- 
ner. I had no idea that you had so much stuft' 
in you. There you were all silence, but here 
you absolutely keep the table iii a roar." 

" Ah ! my dear sir," replied he, with a shake 
of the head, and a slu'ug of the shoulder, " 1 am 
a mere glow-worm. I never shme by daylight. 
Besides, it 's a hard thing for a poor devil of an 
author to shine at the table of a rich bookseller 
Who do you think would laugh at anything J 
could say, when I had some of the current wits 
of the day about me ? But here, though a poor 
devil, I am among still poorer devils than myself; 
men who look up to me as a man of letters, and 
a belie-esprit, and all my jokes pass as sterling 
gold from the mint." 

" You surely do yourself injustice, sir," said I; 
" I have certainly heard more good things from 
you this evening, than from any of those beaux- 
esprits by whom you appear to have been so 
daunted." 

" Ah, sir ! but they have luck on their side •. 
they are in the fashion — there 's nothing like be- 
ing in fashion. A man that has once got his 
'character up for a wit is al\^•ays sure of a laupih. 



(48 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Bay what he may. He may utter as much non- 
sense as he pleases, and all will pass current. 
No one stops to question the coin of a rich man ; 
but a poor devil cannot pass off either a joke or 
a guinea, without its being examined on both 
sides. Wit and coin are always doubted with a 
threadbare coat. 

" For my part," continued he, giving his hat 
a twitch a little more on one side, — " for my 
part, I hate your fine dinners ; there 's nothing, 
sir, like the freedom of a chop-house. I 'd rath- 
er, any time, have my steak and tankard among 
my own set, than druik claret and eat venison 
with your cursed civil, elegant company, who 
never laugh at a good joke from a poor devil for 
fear of its being vulgar. A good joke grows m 
a wet soil ; it flourishes in low places, but withers 
on your d — d high, dry grounds. I once kept 
high company, sir, until I nearly ruined myself; 
I grew so dull, and vapid, and genteel. Nothing 
saved me but being arrested by my landlady, 
and thrown into prison ; where a course of catch- 
clubs, eightpenny ale, and poor-devil company, 
manured my mind, and brought it back to itself 
again." 

As it was now growing late, we parted for the 
evening, though I felt anxious to know more of 
this practical philosopher. I was glad, therefore, 
when Buckthorne proposed to have another meet- 
ing, to talk over old school-times, and inquired 
his schoolmate's address. The latter seemed at 
finrst a little shy of naming his lodgings ; but sud- 
dfciily, assuming an air of hardihood — " Green- 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 149 



arbor Court, sir," exclaimed he — " Number 



In Green-arbor Court. You must know the place. 
Classic ground, sir, classic ground ! It was there 
Goldsmith wrote his ' Vicar of Wakefield,' — I al- 
ways like to live in literary haunts." 

I was amused with this whimsical apology for 
shabby quarters. On our way homeward, Buck- 
thorne assured me that this Dribble had been the 
prime wit and great wag of the school in their 
boyish days, and one of those unlucky urchins de- 
nominated bright geniuses. As he perceived me 
curious respecting his old schoolmate, he prom- 
ised to take me with him in his proposed visit to 
Green-arbor Court. 

A few mornings afterward he called upon me, 
and we set forth on our expedition. He led me 
through a variety of singular alleys, and courts, 
and blind passages ; for he appeared to be per- 
fectly versed in all the intricate geography of the 
metropolis. At length we came out upon Fleet 
Market, and traversing it, turned up a narrow 
street to the bottom of a long steep flight of stone 
steps, called Break-neck Stairs. These, he told 
me, led up to Green-arbor Court, and that down 
them poor Goldsmith might many a time have 
risked his neck. When we entered the court, I 
could not but smile to think in what out-of-the- 
way corners genius produces her bantlings ! And 
the muses, those capricious dames, v/ho, forsooth, 
so often refuse to visit palaces, and deny a single 
smile to votaries in splendid studies, and gilded 
drawing-rooms, — what holes and burrows will 
they frequent to lavish their favors on some rag- 
ged disciple ! 



150 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

This Green-arbor Court I found to be a b;mall 
square, surrounded by tall and miserable houses, 
the very intestines of which seemed turned inside 
out, to judge from the old garments and frippery 
fluttering from every window. It appeared to be 
a region of washerwomen, and lines were stretched 
about the little square, on which clothes were 
dangling to dry. 

Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took 
place between two viragoes about a disputed right 
to a wash-tub, and immediately the whole commu- 
nity was in a hubbub. Heads in mob-caps popped 
out of every window, and such a clamor of tongues 
ensued, that I was fain to stop my ears. Every 
amazon took part with one or other of the dis- 
putants, and brandished her arms, dripping with 
soap-suds, and fired away from her window as 
from the embrazure of a fortress ; while the 
swarms of children nestled and cradled in every 
procreant chamber of this hive, waking with the 
noise, set up their shrill pipes to swell the gen- 
eral concert. 

Poor Goldsmith ! what a time he must have 
had of it, with his quiet disposition and nervous 
habits, penned up in this den of noise and vul- 
garity ! How strange, that, while every sight and 
sound was sufficient to embitter the heart, and 
fill it with misanthropy, his pen should be drop- 
ping the honey of Hybla ! Yet it is more than 
probable that he drew many of his inimitable 
pictures of low life from the scenes which sur- 
rounded him in this abode. The circumstance 
of Mi'S. Tibbs being obliged to wash her hus- 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 161 

band's two shirts in a neighbor's house, who re- 
fused to lend her wash-tub, may have been no sport 
of fancy, but a fact passing under his own eye. 
His landlady may have sat for the picture, and 
Beau Tibbs's scanty wardrobe have been a fac- 
simile of his own. 

It was v^dth some difficulty that we found our 
way to Dribble's lodgings. They were up two 
pair of stairs, in a room that looked upon the 
court ; and when we entered, he was seated on 
the edo-e of his bed, writinoj at a broken table. 
He received us, however, with a free, open, poor- 
devil air, that was irresistible. It is true he did 
at first appear slightly confused ; buttoned up his 
waistcoat a little higher, and tucked in a stray 
frill of linen. But he recollected himself in an 
instant ; gave a half swagger, half leer, as he 
stepped forth to receive us ; drew a three-legged 
stool for Mr. Buckthome ; pointed me to a lum- 
bering old damask chair, that looked like a de- 
throned monarch in exile ; and bade us welcome 
to his garret. 

We soon got engaged in conversation. Buck- 
thorns and he had much to say about early school- 
Bcenes ; and as nothing opens a man's heart more 
than recollections of the kind, we soon drew from 
him a brief outline of his literary career. 




THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 




BEGAN life unluckily by being the 
wag and bright fellow at school ; and 1 
had the further misfortune of becoming 
the great genius of my native village. My father 
was a country attorney, and intended I should 
succeed him in business ; but I had too much 
genius to study, and he was too fond of my genius 
*o force it into the traces ; so I fell into bad com- 
pany, and took to bad habits. Do not mistake 
me. I mean that I fell into the company of vil- 
lage-literati, and village-blues, and took to writ- 
ing village-poetry. 

It was quite the fashion in the village to be 
literary. There was a little knot of choice spirits 
of us, who assembled frequently together, formed 
ourselves into a Literary, Scientific, and Philo- 
sophical Society, and fancied ourselves the most 
learned Philos in existence. Every one had a 
great character assigned him, suggested by some 
casual habit or affectation. One heavy fellow 
drank an enormous quantity of tea, rolled in his 
arm-chair, talked sententiously, pronounced dog- 
matically, and was. considered a second Dr. John- 
Bon ; another, who happened to be a curate, 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR, 153 

littered coarse jokes, wrote doggerel rhymes, and 
was the Swift of our association. Thus we had 
also our Popes, and Goldsmiths, and Addisons ; 
and a blue-stocking lady, whose drawing-room we 
frequented, who corresponded about nothing with 
all the world, and wrote letters with the stiffness 
and formality of a printed book, was cried up as 
another Mrs. Montagu. I was, by common con- 
sent, the juvenile prodigy, the poetical youth, the 
great genius, the pride and hope of the village, 
through whom it was to become one day as cele- 
brated as Stratford-on-Avon. 

My father died, and left me his blessing and 
his business. His blessing brought no money 
into my pocket ; and as to his business, it soon 
deserted me ; for I was busy writing poetry, and 
could not attend to law, and my clients, though 
they had great respect for my talents, had no 
faith in a poetical attorney. 

' I lost my business, therefore, spent my money, 
and finished my poem. It was the Pleasures of 
Melancholy, and was cried up to the skies by the 
whole circle. The Pleasures of Imagination, the 
Pleasures of Hope, and the Pleasures of Memory, 
though each had placed its author in the first 
rank of poets, were blank prose in comparison. 
Our Mrs. Montagu would cry over it from begin- 
ning to end. It was pronounced by all the mem- 
bers of the Literary, Scientific, and Philosophical 
Society the greatest poem of the age, and all 
anticipated the noise it would make in the great 
world. There was not a doubt but the London 
booksellers would be mad after it ; and the only 



154 TALES OF A THAVELLER. 

fear of my friends was, that I would make a sac 
rifice by selling it too cheap. Every time they 
talked the matter over, they increased the price. 
They reckoned up the great sums given for the 
poems of certain popular writers, and determined 
that mine was worth more than all put together, 
and ought to be paid for accordingly. For my 
part, I was modest in my expectations, and deter- 
mined that I would be satisfied with a thousand 
guineas. So I put my poem in my pocket, and 
set off for London. 

My journey was joyous. My heart was light 
as my purse, and my head full of anticipations of 
fame and fortune. With what swelling pride 
did I cast my eyes upon old London from the 
heights of Highgate ! I was like a general, look- 
ing down upon a place he expects to conquer 
The great metropolis lay stretched before me, 
buried under a home-made cloud of murky smoke, 
that wrapped it from the brightness of a sunny 
day, and formed for it a kind of artificial bad 
weather. At the outskirts of the city, away 
to the west, the smoke gradually decreased until 
all was clear and sunny, and the view stretched 
uninterrupted to the bkie line of the Kentish 
hills. 

My eye turned fondly to where the mighty 
cupola of St. Paul's swelled dimly through this 
misty chaos, and I pictured to myself the solemn 
realm of learning that lies about its base. How 
Boon should the Pleasures of Melancholy throw 
this world of booksellers and printers into a bus- 
Jle of business and delight! How soon should 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 155 

I hear my name repeated by printers' devils 
throughout Paternoster Row, and Angel Court, and 
Ave-Maria Lane, until Amen Corner should echo 
back the sound ! 

Arrived in town, I repaired at once to the 
most fashionable pubhsher. Every new author 
patronizes him of course. In fact, it had been 
determined in the village circle that he should be 
the fortunate man. I cannot tell you how vain- 
gloriously I walked the streets. My head was 
in the clouds. I felt the airs of heaven playing 
about it, and fancied it already encircled by a 
halo of literary glory. As I passed by the win- 
dows of book-shops, I anticipated the time when 
my work would be shining among the hot-pressed 
wonders of the day ; and my face, scratched on 
copper, or cut on wood, figuring in fellowship 
with those of Scott, and Byron, and Moore. 

When I applied at "the publisher's house, there 
was something in the loftiness of my air, and the 
dinginess of my dress, that struck the clerks with 
reverence. They doubtless took me for some 
person of consequence ; probably a digger of 
Greek roots, or a penetrater of pyramids. A 
proud man in a dirty shirt is always an imposing 
character in the world of letters ; one must feel 
intellectually secure before he can venture to 
dress shabbily ; none but a great genius, or a 
great scholar, dares to be dirty ; so I was ushered 
at once to the sanctum sanctorum of this high- 
priest of Minerva. 

The publishing of books is a very different 
affair nowadays from what it was in the time of 



156 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Bernard Lintot. I fouDd the publisher a fasli- 
ionablj dressed man, in an elegant drawing-room, 
furnished with sofas, and portraits of celebrated 
authors, and cases of splendidly bound books. 
He was writing letters at an elegant table. This 
was transacting business in style. The place 
seemed suited to the magnificent publications that 
issued from it. I rejoiced at the choice I had 
made of a publisher, for I always liked to en- 
courage men of taste and spirit. 

I stepped up to the table with the lofty poeti- 
cal port I had been accustomed to maintain in 
our village circle ; though I threw in it some- 
thing of a patronizing air, such as one feels when 
about to make a man's fortune. The publisher 
paused with his pen in hand, and seemed waiting 
in mute suspense to know what was to be an- 
nounced by so singular an apparition. 

I put him at his ease in a moment, for I felt 
that I had but to come, see, and conquer. I 
made known my name, and the name of my poem ; 
produced my precious roll of blotted manuscript ; 
laid it on the table with an emphasis ; and told 
him at once, to save time, and come directly to 
the point, the price was one thousand guineas. 

I had given him no time to speak, nor did he 
seem so inclined. He continued looking at me 
for a moment with an air of whimsical perplexity ; 
scamied me from head to foot ; looked down at 
the manuscript, then up again at me, then pointed 
to a chair ; and whistling softly to liimself, went 
on writing his letter. 

I sat for some time waiting his reply, suppos- 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 157 

ing he was making up his mind ; but he only 
paused occasionally to take a fresh dip of ink, 
to stroke his chin, or the tip of his nose, and 
then resumed his writing. It was evident his 
mind was intently occupied upon some other sub- 
ject ; but I had no idea that any other subject 
could be attended to, and my poem lie unnoticed 
on the table. I had supposed that everything 
would make way for the " Pleasures of Melan- 
choly." 

My gorge at length rose within me. I took 
up my manuscript, thrust it into my pocket, and 
walked out of the room ; making some noise as I 
went out, to let my departure be heard. The 
publisher, however, was too much buried in 
minor concerns to notice it. I was suffered to 
walk down-stairs without being called back. I 
sallied forth into the street, but no clerk was sent 
after me ; nor did the publisher call after me from 
the drawing-room window. I have been told 
since, that he considered me either a madman or 
a fool. I leave you to judge how much he was 
in the wrong in his opinion. 

When I turned the corner, my crest fell. I 
cooled down in my pride and my expectations, 
and reduced my terms with the next bookseller 
to whom I applied. I had no better success ; 
nor with a third, nor with a fourth. I then 
desired the booksellers to make an offer them- 
selves ; but the deuce an offer would they make. 
They told me poetry \^ as a mere drug; every- 
body wrote poetry ; the market was overstocked 
mth it. And then they said, the title of my 



158 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

poem was not taking ; that pleasures of all kinda 
were worn threadbare, nothing but horrors did 
nowadays, and even those were almost worn out. 
Tales of Pirates, Robbers, and bloody Turks, 
might answer tolerably well ; but then they must 
come from some established, well-known name, 
or the public would not look at them. 

At last I offered to leave my poem with a 
bookseller to read it, and judge for himself. 
" Why, really, my dear Mr. a — a — I for- 
get your name," said he, casting his eye at my 
rusty coat and shabby gaiters, " really, sir, we are 
so pressed with business just now, and have so 
many manuscripts on hand to read, that we have 
not time to look at any new^ productions ; but if 
you can call again in a week or two, or say the 
middle of next month, we may be able to look over 
your waitings, and give you an answer. Don't 
forget, the month after next ; good morning, sir ; 
happy to see you any time you are passing 
tliis way." So saying, he bowed me out m the 
civilest way imaginable. In short, sir, instead of 
an eager competition to secure my poem, I could 
not even get it read ! In the mean time I was 
harassed by letters from my friends, wanting to 
know when the work was to appear; who was to 
be my publisher ; and above all things, warning 
me not to let it go too cheap. 

There was but one alternative left. I deter- 
mined to publish the poem myself; and to have 
my triumph over the booksellers when it should 
become the fashion of the day. I accordingly 
published the " Pleasures of Melancholy," — and 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 159 

ruined myself. Excepting the copies sent to tlie 
reviews, and to my friends in the country, not one, 
I believe, ever left the bookseller's warehouse. 
The printer's bill drained my purse ; and the only 
notice that was taken of my work was contained 
in the advertisements paid for by myself 

I could have borne all this, and have attrib- 
uted it, as usual, to the mismanagement of the 
publisher, or the want of taste in the public ; and 
could have made the usual appeal to posterity ; 
but my village friends would not let me rest in 
quiet. They were picturing me to themselves 
feasting with the gTcat, communing with the liter- 
ary, and in the high career of fortune and renown. 
Every little while, some one woidd call on me 
with a letter of introduction from the village cir- 
cle, recommending him to my attentions, and 
requesting that I would make him known in soci- 
ety ; with a hint, that an introduction to a cele- 
brated literary nobleman would be extremely 
agreeable. I determined, therefore, to change my 
lodgings, drop my correspondence, and disappear 
altogether from the view of my village admirers. 
Besides, I was anxious to make one more poetic 
attempt. I was by no means disheartened by the 
failure of my first. My poem was evidently too 
didactic. The public was wise enough. It no 
longer read for instruction. " They want horrors, 
do they ? " said I : " I'faith ! then they shall have 
enough of them." So I looked out for some 
quiet, retired place, where I might be out of the 
reach of my friends, and have leisure to cook up 
some delectable dish of poetical " hell-broth." 



160 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

I had some difficulty in finding a place to my 
mind, when chance threw me in the way of Can- 
onbury Castle. It is an ancient brick tower, hard 
by " merry Islington " ; the remains of a hunting- 
seat of Queen Elizabeth, where she took the 
pleasure of the country when the neighborhood 
was all woodland. What gave it particular in- 
terest in my eyes was the circumstance that it 
had been the residence of a poet. 

It was here Goldsmith resided when he wrote 
his " Deserted Village." I was shown the very 
apartment. It was a relic of the original style 
of the castle, with panelled wainscots and Gothic 
windows. I was pleased with its air of antiquity, 
and with its having been the residence of poor 
Goldy. 

" Goldsmith was a pretty poet," said I to my- 
self, " a very pretty poet, though rather of the old 
school. He did not think and feel so strongly as 
is the fashion nowadays ; but had he lived in 
these times of hot hearts and hot heads, he would 
no doubt have written quite differently." 

In a few days I was quietly established in my 
new quarters ; my books all arranged ; my writ- 
ing-desk placed by a window looking out into the 
fields ; and I felt as snug as Robinson Crusoe. 
when he had finished his bower. For several 
days I enjoyed all the novelty of the change an I 
the charms which grace new lodgings, before (jue 
has found out their defects. I rambled about the 
fields where I fancied Goldsmitli had rambled. 
I explored merry Islington ; ate my solitary din- 
ner at the Black Bull, which, according to tradi- 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 161 

tion, was a country-seat of Sir Walter Raleigh ; 
and would sit and sip my wine, and muse on old 
times, in a quaint old room, where many a coun- 
cil had been held. 

All this did very well for a few days. I was 
Blimulated by novelty ; inspired by the associa- 
tions awakened in my mind by these curious 
haunts ; and began to think I felt the spirit of 
composition stirring within me. But Sunday 
came, and with it the whole city world, swarm- 
ing about Canonbury Castle. I could not open 
my window but I was stunned with shouts and 
noises from the cricket-ground ; the late quiet road 
beneath my window was alive with the tread 
of feet and clack of tongues ; 'and, to complete 
my misery, I found that my quiet retreat was 
absolutely a " show-house," the tower and its con- 
tents being shown to strangers at sixpence a 
head. 

There was a perpetual tramping up-stairs of 
citizens and their families, to look about the coun- 
try from the top of the tower, and to take a peep 
at the city through the telescope, to try if they 
could discern their own chimneys. And then, in 
the midst of a vein of thought, or a moment of 
inspiration, I was interrupted, and all my ideas 
put to flight, by my intolerable landlady's tapping 
at the door, and asking me if I would "just please 
to let a lady and gentleman come in, to take a 
look at Mr. Goldsmith's room." If you know any- 
Ihmg of what an author's study is, and what an 
author is himself, you must know that there was 

no standing this. I put positive interdict on my 
11 



162 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

room's being exliibited ; but then it was shown 
when I was absent, and my papers put in eon- 
fusion ; and, on returning home one day, I abso- 
lutely found a cursed tradesman and his daughters 
gaping over ray manuscripts, and my landlady in 
a panic at my appearance. I tried to make out 
a little longer, by taking the key in my pocket ; 
but it would not do. I overheard mine hostess 
one day telling some of - her customers on the 
stairs, that the room was occupied by an author, 
who was always in a tantrum if interrupted ; and 
I immediately perceived, by a slight noise at the 
door, that they were peeping at me through the 
key-hole. By the head of Apollo, but this was 
quite too much ! With all my eagerness for 
fame, and my ambition of the stare of the million, 
I had no idea of being exhibited by retail, at 
sixpence a head, and that through a key-hole. So 
I bid adieu to Canonbury Castle, merry Islington, 
and the haunts of poor Goldsmith, without hav- 
ing advanced a single line in my labors. 

My next quarters were at a small, whitewashed 
cottage, which stands not far from Hampstead, just 
on the brow of a hill ; looking over Chalk Farm 
and Camden Town, remarkable for the rival 
houses of Mother Red Cap and Mother Black 
Cap ; and so across CrackskuU Common to the 
distant city. 

The cottage was in nowise remarkable in itself; 
but I regarded it with reverence, for it had been 
the asylum of a persecuted author. Hither poor 
Steele had retreated, and laid perdu, when perse- 
cuted by creditors and bailiffs — those immemo« 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 163 

rial plagues of authors and free-spirited gentle- 
men ; and here he had written many numbers of 
the " Spectator." It was hence, too, that he had 
dispatched those little notes to his lady, so full of 
aifection and whimsicality, in which the fond hus- 
band, the careless gentleman, and the shifting 
spendthrift, were so oddly blended. I thought, as 
I first eyed the window of his apartment, that I 
could sit within it and write volumes. 

No such thing ! It was haymaking season, and, 
as ill luck would have it, immediately opposite 
the cottage was a little ale-house, with the sign 
of the Load of Hay. Whether it was there in 
Steele's time, I cannot say ; but it set all attempts 
at conception or inspiration at defiance. It was 
the resort of all the Irish haymakers who mow 
the broad fields in the neighborhood; and of 
drovers and teamsters who travel that road. 
Here they would gather in the endless summer 
twilight, or by the light of the harvest moon, and 
sit around a table at the door; and tipple, and 
laugh, and quarrel, and fight, and sing drowsy 
songs, and dawdle away the hours, until the deep 
solemn notes of St. Paul's clock would warn the 
varlets home. 

In the daytime I was less able to write. It 
was broad "summer. The haymakers were at 
work in the fields, and the perfume of the new- 
mown hay brought with it the recollection of my 
native fields. So instead of remaining in my 
room to write, I went wandering about Primrose 
Hill, and Hampstead Heights, and Shepherd's 
Fields, and all those Arcadian scenes so cele* 



164 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

brated by London bards. I cannot tell you how 
many delicious hours I have passed, lying on the 
cocks of the new-mown hay, on the pleasant 
slopes of some of those hills, inhaling the fra- 
grance of the fields, while the summer-fly buzzed 
about me, or the grasshopper leaped into my bos- 
om ; and how I have gazed with half-shut eye 
upon the smoky mass of London, and listened to 
the distant sound of its population, and pitied the 
poor sons of earth, toiling in its bowels, like 
Gnomes in the " dark gold-mines." 

People may say what they please about cock- 
ney pastorals, but, after all, there is a vast deal 
of rural beauiy about the western vicinity of 
London ; and any one that has looked down upori 
the valley of the West End, with its soft bosom 
of green pasturage lying open to the south, and 
dotted with cattle ; the steeple of Hampstead ris- 
ing among rich groves on the brow of the hill ; 
and the learned heisrht of Harrow in the dis- 
tance ; will confess that never has he seen a 
more absolutely rural landscape in the vicinity of 
a great metropolis. 

Still, however, I found myself not a whit the 
better off for my frequent change of lodgings ; 
and I began to discover, that in literature, as in 
trade, the old proverb holds good, " a rolling stone 
gathers no moss." 

The tranquil beauty of the country played the 
very vengeance with me. I could not mount my 
fancy into the termagant vein. I could not con- 
ceive, amidst the smiling landscape, a scene of 
blood and murder ; and the smug citizens id 



THE POOR-DEVTL AUTHOR. 165 

breeches and gaiters put all ideas of heroes and 
bandits out of my brain. I could think of noth- 
ing but dulcet subjects, " the Pleasures of Spring " 
— " the Pleasures of Solitude " — " the Pleas- 
ures of Tranquillity " — " the Pleasures of Sen- 
timent " — nothing but pleasures ; and I had the 
painful experience of " the Pleasures of Melan- 
choly " too strongly in my recollection to be be- 
guiled by them. 

Chance at length befriended me. I had fre- 
quently, in my ramblings, loitered about Hamp- 
stead Hill, which is a kind of Parnassus of the 
metropolis. At such times I occasionally took 
my dinner at Jack Straw's Castle. It is a coun- 
try inn so named ; the very spot where that noto- 
rious rebel and his followers held their council of 
war. It is a favorite resort of citizens when ru- 
rally inclined, as it commands fine fresh air, and a 
good view of the city. I sat one day in the pub- 
lic room of this inn, ruminating over a beefsteak 
and a pint of porter, when my imagination kin- 
dled up with ancient and heroic images. I had 
long wanted a theme and a heix) ; both suddenly 
broke upon my mind. I determined to write a 
poem on the history of Jack Straw. I was so 
full of the subject, that I was fearful of being an- 
ticipated. I wondered that none of the poets of 
the day in their search after ruffian heroes, had 
never thought of Jack Straw. I went to work 
pell-mell, blotted several sheets of paper with 
choice floating thoughts, imd battles, and de- 
scriptions, to be ready at a moment's warning. 
In a few days' time I sketched out the skeleton 



166 TALES OF A TRAVEl LER. 

of nij poem, and nothing was wanting but to give 
it flesh and blood. I used to take my manuscript 
and stroll about Caen Wood, and read aloud ; and 
would dine at the Castle, by way of keeping up 
the vein of thought. 

I was there one day, at rather a late hour, in 
the public room. There was no other company 
but one man, who sat enjoying his pint of porter 
at the window, and noticing the passers-by. He 
was dressed in a green shooting- coat. His coun- 
tenance was strongly marked : he had a hooked 
nose ; a romantic eye, excepting that it had some- 
thing of a squint ; and altogether, as I thought, a 
poetical style of head. I was quite taken with 
the man, for you must know I am a little of a 
physiognomist ; I set him down at once for either 
a poet or a philosopher. 

As I like to make new acquaintances, consid- 
ering every man a volume of human nature, I 
soon fell into conversation with the stranger, who, 
I was pleased to find, was by no means difficult 
of access. After I had dined, I joined him at 
the window, and ' we became so sociable that I 
proposed a bottle of wine together, to which he 
most cheerfully assented. 

I was too full of my poem to keep long quiet 
on the subject, and began to talk about the origm 
of the tavern, and the history of Jack Straw. I 
found my new acquaintance to be perfectly at 
home on the topic, and to jump exactly with my 
humor hi every respect. I became elevated by 
the mne and the conversation. In the fulness 
jf an author's feelings, I told him of my pro- 



THE PO OB-DEVIL AUTHOR. 167 

je'cted poem, and repeated some passages, and he 
vvas in raptures. He was evidently of a strong 
poetical turn. 

" Sir," said he, filling my glass at the same 
time, " our poets don't look at home. I don't see 
why we need go out of old England for robbers 
and rebels to write about. I like your Jack 
Straw, sir, — he 's a home-made hero. I like him, 
sir — I like him exceedingly. He 's English to 
the backbone — damme — Give me honest old 
England after all ! Them 's my sentiments, sir." 

" I honor your sentiment," cried I, zealously ; 
" it is exactly my own. An English ruffian is as 
good a ruffian for poetry as any in Italy, or Ger- 
many, or the Archipelago ; but it is hard to make 
our poets think so." 

" More shame for them ! " repUed the man in 
green. " What a plague would they have ? 
What have we to do with their Archipelagos of 
Italy and Germany ? Have n't we heaths and 
commons and highways on our ovm little island 
— ay, and stout fellows to pad the hoof over them 
too ? Stick to home, I say, — them 's my senti- 
ments. — Come, sir, my service to you — I agree 
with you perfectly." 

" Poets, in old times, had right notions on this 
subject," continued I ; " witness the fine old bal- 
lads about Robin Hood, Allan a'Dale, and other 
stanch blades of yore." 

" Right, sir, right," interrupted he ; " Robin 
Hood ! he was the lad to cry stand ! to a man, 
and never to flinch." 

" Ah, sir," said I, " they t ad famous bands of 



168 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

robbers in the good old times ; those were glori- 
ous poetical days. The merry crew of Sherwood 
Forest, who led such a roving picturesque lif&^ 
' under the greenwood tree.' I have often wished 
to visit their haunts, and tread the scenes of the 
exploits of Friar Tuck, and Clymm of the 
Clough, and Sir William of Cloudeslie." 

" Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, " we 
have had several very pretty gangs since that 
day. Those gallant dogs that kept about the 
great heaths in the neighborhood of London, 
about Bagshot, and Hounslow, and Blackheath, 
for instance. Come, sir, my service to you. 
You don't drink." 

" I suppose," cried I, emptying my glass, " I 
suppose you have heard of the famous Turpin, 
who was born in this very village of Hampstead, 
and who used to lurk with his gang in Epping 
Forest about a hundred years since ? " 

" Have I ? " cried he, " to be sure I have ! 
A hearty old blade that. Sound as pitch. Old 
Turpentine ! as we used to call him. A famous 
fine fellow, sir." 

" Well, sir,'' continued I, " I have visited 
Waltham Abbey and Chingford Church merely 
from the stories I heard when a boy of his ex- 
ploits there, and I have searched Epping ForesI 
for the cavern where he used to conceal himself 
You must know," added I, " that I am a sort of 
amateur of highwaymen. They were dashing 
daring fellows : the best apologies that we had 
for the knights-errant of yore. Ah, sir ! the 
country has been sinking gradually into tameness 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 169 

and commonplace. We are losing the old Eng- 
lish spirit. The bold knights of the Post have 
all dwindled down into lurking footpads, and 
sneaking pickpockets ; there 's no sucli thing as 
a dashing, gentleman-like robbery committed now- 
adays on the King's highway : a man may roll 
from one end of England to the other in a drowsy 
coach, or jingling post-chaise, without any other 
adventure than that of being occasionally over- 
turned, sleeping in damp sheets, or having an ill- 
cooked dinner. We hear no more of public 
coaches being stopped and robbed by a well- 
mounted gang of resolute fellows, with pistols in 
their hands, and crapes over their faces. What 
a pretty poetical incident was it, for example, in 
domestic life, for a family-carriage, on its way to 
a country-seat, to be attacked about dark ; the old 
gentleman eased of his purse and watch, the la- 
dies of their necklaces and ear-rings, by a polite- 
ly-spoken highwayman on a blood-mare, who af- 
terwards leaped the hedge and galloped across 
the country, to the admiration of Miss Caroline, 
the daughter, who would write a long and roman- 
tic account of the adventure to her friend. Miss 
Juliana, in town. Ah, sir ! we meet with noth- 
ing of such incidents nowadays."' 

" That, sir," said my companion, taking advan- 
tage of a pause, when I stopped to I'ecover breath, 
and to take a glass of wine which he had just 
poured out, " that, sir, craving your pardon is not 
owing to any want of old English pluck It is 
the effect of this cursed system of banking. Peo- 
ple do not travel with bags of gold us tbey did 



170 TALES OF A TRAVELLEHt 

formerly. They have post-notes, and drafts on 
bankers. To rob a coach is like catching a 
crow, where you have nothing but carrion flesh 
and feathers for your pains. But a coach in old 
times, sir, was as rich as a Spanish galleon. It 
turned out the yellow boys bravely. And a pri- 
vate carriage was a cool hundred or two at 
least." 

I cannot express how much I was delighted 
with the sallies of my new acquaintance. He 
told me that he often frequented the Castle, and 
would be glad to know more of me ; and I pro- 
posed myself many a pleasant afternoon with 
him, when I should read him my poem as it pro- 
ceeded, and benefit by his remarks ; for it was 
evident he had the true poetical feeling. 

" Come, sir," said he, pushing the bottle : 
" Damme, I like yoa ! you 're a man after my own 
heart. I 'm cursed slow in making new acquaint- 
ances. One must be on the reserve, you know. 
But when I meet with a man of your kidney, 
damme, my heart jumps at once to him. Them 's 
my sentiments, sir. Come, sir, here ^s Jack 
Straw's health ! I presume one can drink it now- 
adays without treason ! " 

" With all my heart," said I, gayly, " and 
Dick Turpin's into the bargain ! " 

" All, sir," said the man in green, " those are 
the kind of men fc/r poetry. The Newgate Cal- 
endar, sir ! the Newgate Calendar is your only 
reading ! There 's the place to look for bold 
deeds and dashing fellows." 

We were so much pleased with each other 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 171 

that we sat until a late hour. I insisted on pay- 
ing the bill, for both my purse and my heart 
were full, and I agreed that he should pay the 
score at our next meeting. As the cc»aches had 
all gone that run between Hampstead and Lon- 
don, we had to return on foot. He was so de- 
lighted with the idea of my poem, that he could ^ 
talk of nothing else. He made me repeat such 
passages as I could remember ; and though I 
did it in a very mangled manner, having a 
wretched memory, yet he was in raptures. 

Every now and then he would break out with 
some scrap which he would misquote most terri- 
bly, would rub his hands and exclaim, " By Ju- 
piter, that 's fine, that 's noble ! Damme, sir, if I 
can conceive how you hit upon such ideas ! " 

I must confess I did not always relish his mis- 
quotations, which sometimes made absolute non- 
sense of the passages ; but what author stands 
upon trifles when he is praised ? 

Never had I spent a more delightful evening. 
I did not perceive how the time flew. I could 
not bear to separate, but continued walking on, 
arm in arm, with him, past my lodgings, through 
Camden Town, and across Crackskull Common^ 
talking the whole way about my poem. 

When we were half-way across the common, 
he interrupted me in the riiidst of a quotation, by 
telling me that this had been a famous place for 
footpads, and was still occasionally infested by 
them ; and that a man had recently been shot 
there in attempting to defend himself — " The 
moTQ fool he ! " cried I ; " a mar is an idiot to 



172 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

risk life, or even limb, to save a paltry purse of 
money. It 's quite a different case from that of 
a duel, wli3re one's honor is concerned. For my 
part," added I, " I should never think of making 
resistance against one of those desperadoes." 

" Say you so ? " cried my friend in green, 
turning suddenly upon me, and putting a pistol 
to my breast ; " why, then, have at you, my lad ! 
— come — disburse ! empty ! unsack ! " 

In a word, I found that the muse had played 
me another of her tricks, and had betrayed me 
into the hands of a footpad. There was no time 
to parley ; he made me turn my pockets inside 
out ; and hearing the sound of distant footsteps. 
he made one fell swoop upon purse, watch, and 
all ; gave me a thwack on my unlucky pate that 
laid me sprawling on the ground, and scampered 
away with his booty. 

I saw no more of my friend in green until a 
year or two afterwards ; when I caught sight of 
his poetical countenance among a crew of scape- 
graces heavily ironed, who were on the way for 
transportation. He recognized me at once, tipped 
me an impudent wink, and asked me how I came 
on with the history of Jack Straw's Castle. 

The catastrophe at Crackskull Common put an 
end to my summer's campaign. I was cured of 
my poetical enthusiasm for rebels, robbers, and 
higliwaymen. I was put out of conceit of my 
subject, and, what was worse, I was liglitenad of 
my purse, in which was almost every farthing I 
had in the world. So I abandoned Sir Richard 
Steele's cottage in despair, |ind crept into less cel« 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 173 

ebrated, though no less poetical and airy lodgings 
in a garret in town. 

I now determined to cultivate the society of 
the literary, and to enroll myself in the fraternity 
of authorship. It is by the constant collision of 
mind, thought I, that authors strike out the 
sparks of genius, and kindle up with glorious con- 
ceptions. Poetry is evidently a contagious com- 
plaint. I will keep company with poets ; who 
knows but I may catch it as others have done ? 

I found no difficulty in making a circle of liter- 
ary acquaintances, not having the sin of success 
lying at my door : indeed the failure of my poem 
was a kind of recommendation to their favor. 
It is true my new friends were not of the most 
brilliant names in literature ; but then if you 
would take their words for it, they -were like the 
prophets of old, men of whom the world was not 
worthy ; and who were to live in future ages, 
when the ephemeral favorites of the day should 
be forgotten. 

I soon discovered, however, that the more I 
mingled in literary society, the less I felt capable 
of writing ; that poetry w^as not so catching as I 
imagined ; and that in familiar life there was 
often nothing less poetical than a poet. Besides, 
I wanted the esprit du corps to turn these liter- 
ary fellowships to any account. I could not 
bring myself to enlist in any particular sect. I 
gaw something to like in them all, but found that 
would never do, for that the tacit condition on 
which a man enters into one of these sects is, 
that he abuses all the rest. 



174 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

I perceived that there were little knots of an 
thors who lived with, and for, and by one another 
They considered themselves the salt of the earth. 
They fostered and kept up a conventional vein of 
thinking and talking, and joking on all subjects ; 
and they cried each other up to the skies. Each 
sect had its particular creed ; and set up certain 
authors as divinities, and fell down and wor- 
shipped them ; and considered every one who did 
not worship them, or who worshipped any other, 
as a heretic, and an infidel. 

In quoting the writers of the day, I generally 
*bund them extolling names of which 1 had 
scarcely heard, and talking slightingly of others 
who were the favorites of the public. If I men- 
tioned any recent work from the pen of a first- 
rate author, they had not read it ; they had not 
time to read all that was spawned from the press , 
he wrote too much to write well ; — and then they 
would break out into raptures about some Mr. 
Timson, or Tomson, or Jackson, whose works 
were neglected at the present day, but who was 
to be the wonder and delight of posterity ! Alas ! 
what heavy debts is this neglectful world daily 
accumulating on the shoulders of poor posterity ! 

But, above all, it was edifying to hear with 
what contempt they would talk of the great. 
Ye gods ! how immeasurably the great are de- 
spised by the small fry of literature ! It is true, 
an exception was now and then made of some 
nobleman, with whom, perhaps, they had casually 
shaken hands at an election, or hob or nobbed at 
a public dinner, and was pronounced a " devilish 



THE rOOR-DEVlL AUTHOR. 175 

good fellow," and "no humbug"; but, in general, 
it was enough for a man to have a title, to be 
the object of their sovereign disdain : you have 
no idea how poetically and philosophically they 
would talk of nobility. 

For my part, this affected me but little ; for 
though I had no bitterness against the great, and 
did not think the worse of a man for having inno- 
cently been born to a title, yet I did not feel my- 
self at present called upon to resent the indigni- 
ties poured upon them by the little. But the hos- 
tility to the great writers of the day went sore 
against the grain with me. I coald not enter into 
such feuds, nor participate in such animosities. I 
had not become author sufficiently to hate other 
authors. I could still find pleasure in the novel- 
ties of the press, and could find it in my heart 
to praise a contemporary, even though he were 
successful. Indeed I was miscellaneous in my 
taste, and could not confine it to any age or 
growth of writers. I could turn with delight 
from the glowing pages of Byron to the cool and 
polished raillery of Pope ; and after wandering 
among the sacred groves of " Paradise Lost," I 
could give myself up to voluptuous abandonment 
in the enchanted bowers of " Lalla Rookh." 

" I would have my authors," said I, " as vari- 
ous as my wines, and, in relishing the strong and 
the racy, would never decry the sparkling and ex- 
hilarating. Port and Sherry are excellent stand- 
bys, and so is Madeira ; but Claret and Bur- 
gundy may be drunk now and then without dis- 
paragement to one's palate, and Champagne is a 
beverage by no means to be despised." 



176 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Such was the tirade I uttered one day when 
a little flushed with ale at a literary club. I ut- 
tered it too, with something of a flourish, for I 
thought my simile a clever one. Unluckily, my 
auditors w^ere men who drank beer and hated 
Pope ; so ray figure about wines went for noth- 
ing, and my critical toleration was looked upon 
as downright heterodoxy. In a word, I soon be- 
came like a freethinker in religion, an outlaw 
from every sect, and fair game for all. Such are 
the melancholy consequences of not hating in lit- 
erature. 

I see you are growing weary, so I will be 
brief with the residue of my literary career. I 
will not detain you with a detail of my various 
attempts to get astride of Pegasus ; of the poems 
I have written which were never printed, the 
plays I have presented which were never per- 
formed, and the tracts I have published which 
were never purchased. It seemed as if book- 
sellers, managers, and the very public, had en- 
tered into a conspiracy to starve me. Still I 
could not prevail upon myself to give up the 
trial, nor abandon those dreams of renown ii> 
which I had indulged. How should I be able 
to look the literary circle of my native village 
in the face, if I were so completely to falsify 
their predictions ? For some time longer, there- 
fore, I continued to write for fame, and was, of 
course, the most miserable dog in ex^'stence, be- 
sides being in continual risk of starvation. I 
accumulated loads of literary treasure on my 
shelves — loads which were to be treasm-es to 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 177 

posterity ; but, alas ! they put not a penny into 
my purse. What was all this wealth to my 
present necessities ? I could not patch my el- 
bows with an ode ; nor satisfy my hunger with 
blank verse. " Shall a man fill his belly with 
the east wind ? " says the proverb. He may as 
well do so as with poetry. 

1 have many a time strolled sorrowfully along, 
with a sad heart and an empty stomach, about 
five o'clock, and looked wistfully down the areas 
in the west end of the town, and seen through the 
kitchen-windows the fires gleaming, and the joints 
of meat turning on the spits and dripping Avitb 
gravy, and the cook-maids beating up puddings, 
or trussing turkeys, and felt for the moment that 
if I could but have the run of one of thos^ 
kitchens, Apollo and the Muses might have tlie 
hungry heights of Parnassus for me. Oh, sir ! 
talk of meditations among the tombs, — they are 
nothing so melancholy as the meditations of a poor 
devil without penny in pouch, along a line of 
kitchen-windows towai'ds dinner-time. 

At length, when almost reduced to famine and 
despair, the idea all at once entered my head, 
that perhaps I was not so clever a fellow as the 
village and myself had supposed. It was the sal- 
vation of me. The moment the idea popped into 
my brain it brought conviction and comfort with 
it. I awoke as from a dream : I gave up immor- 
tal fame to those who could live on air ; took to 
writing for mere bread ; and have ever since had 
a very tolerable life of it. There is no man of 
letters so much at his ease, sir, as he who has no 
12 



178 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

character to gaiii or lose. I had to train myself 
to it a little, and to clip my wings short at first, 
or they would have carried me up into poetry in 
spite of myself. So I determined to begin by the 
opposite extreme, and abandoning the higher 
regions of the craft, I came plump down to the 
lowest, and turned creeper. 

" Creeper ! and pray what is that ? " said I. 

" Oh, sir, I see you are ignorant of the lan- 
guage of the craft ; a creeper is one who furnishes 
the newspapers with paragraphs at so much a 
line ; and who goes about in quest of misfortunes ; 
attends the Bow Street Office ; the Courts of Jus- 
tice, and every other den of mischief and iniquity. 
We are paid at the rate of a penny a line, and as 
we can sell the same paragraph to almost every 
paper, we sometimes pick up a very decent day's 
work. Now and then the Muse is unkind, or the 
day uncommonly quiet, and then we rather starve ; 
and sometimes the unconscionable editors will clip 
our paragraphs when they are a little too rhetor- 
ical, and snip off twopence or threepence at a go. 
I have many a time had my pot of porter snipped 
off my dinner m this way, and have had to dine 
with dry lips. However, I cannot complain. I 
rose gradually in the lower ranks of the craft, and 
am now, I think, in the most comfortable region 
of literature." 

" And pray," said I, " what may you be at 
present ? " 

" At present," said he, " I am a regular job- 
writer, and turn my hand to anything. I work 
up the writings of others at so much a sheet » 



THE POOR- DEVIL AUTHOR. 179 

turn off translations ; write second-rate articles 
to fill up reviews and magazines ; compile travels 
and voyages, and furnish theatrical criticisms for 
the newspapers. All this authorship, you per- 
ceive, is anonymous ; it gives me no reputation 
except among the trade ; where I am consid- 
ered an author of all work, and am always sure 
of employ. That 's the only reputation I want. 
I sleep soundly, without dread of duns or critics, 
and leave immortal fame to those that choose to 
fret and fight about it. Take my word for it, the 
only happy author in this world is he who is 
below t;he care of reputation." 




NOTORIETY. 




HEN we had emerged from the literary 
nest of honest Dribble, and had passed 
safely through the dangers of Break- 
neck Stairs, and the labyrinths of Fleet Market, 
Buckthorne indulged in many comments upon the 
peep into literary life which he had furnished me. 

I expressed my surprise at finding it so differ- 
ent a world from what I had imagined. " It is 
always so," said he, " with strangers. The land 
of literature is a fairy land to those who view it 
at a distance, but, like all other landscapes, the 
charm fades on a nearer approach, and the thorns 
and briars become visible. The republic of let- 
ters is the most factious and discordant of all 
republics, ancient or modern." 

" Yet," said I, smiling, " you would not have 
me take honest Dribble's experience as a view of 
the land. He is but a mousing owl ; a mere 
groundling. We should have quite a different 
strain from one of those fortunate authors whom 
we see sporting about the empyreal heights of 
fashion, like swallows in the blue sky of a sum- 
mer's day." 

" Perhaps we might,'' replied he, " but I doubt 
it I doubt whether, if any one, even of the most 



NOTORIETY. 181 

successful, were to tell his actual feelings, you 
would not find the truth of friend Dribble's phi- 
losophy with respect to reputation. One you 
would find carrying a gay face to the world, 
while some vulture critic was preying upon his 
very liver. Another, who was simple enough to 
mistake fashion for fame, you would find watch- 
ing countenances, and cultivating invitations, more 
ambitious to figure in the beau monde than the 
world of letters, and apt to be rendered wretched 
by the neglect of an illiterate peer, or a dissipated 
duchess. Those who were rising to fame, you 
would find tormented with anxiety to get higher ; 
and those who had gained the summit, in constant 
apprehension of a decline. 

" Even those who are indifferent to the buzz 
of notoriety, and the farce of fashion, are not 
much better off, being incessantly harassed by 
intrusions on their leisure, and interruptions of 
their pursuits ; for, whatever may be liis feelings, 
when once an author is launched into notoriety, 
he must go the rounds until the idle curiosity of 
the day is satisfied, and he is thrown aside to 
make way for some new caprice. Upon the 
whole, I do not know but he is most fortunate 
who engages in the whirl through ambition, 
however tormenting ; as it is doubly irksome to 
be obliged to join in the game without being inter- 
ested in the stake. 

" There is a constant demand in the fashionable 
world for novelty ; every nine days must have its 
wonder, no matter of what kind. At one time it 
is an author ; at another, a fire-eater ; at another, 



182 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 

a composer, an Indian juggler, or an Indian 
chief; a man from the North Pole or the Pyra- 
mids ; each figures through his brief term of 
notoriety, and then makes way for the succeeding 
wonder. You must know that we have oddity 
fanciers among our ladies of rank, who collect 
about them all kinds of remarkable beings ; fid- 
dlers, statesmen, singers, warriors, artists, philoso- 
phers, actors, and poets ; every kind of personage, 
in short, who is noted for something peculiar ; so 
that their routs a"" like fancy-balls, where every 
one comes ' in character.' 

" I have had infinite amusement at these par- 
ties in noticing how industriously every one was 
playing a part, and acting out of his natural line. 
There is not a more complete game at cross pur- 
poses than the intercourse of the literary and the 
great. The fine gentleman is always anxious to 
be thought a wit, and the wit a fine gentleman. 

" I have noticed a lord endeavoring to look 
wise and talk learnedly with a man of letters, who 
was aiming at a fashionable air, and the tone of a 
man who had lived about town. The peer quoted 
a score or two learned authors, with whom he 
would fain be thought intimate, while the author 
talked of Sir John this, and Sir Harry _that, and 
extolled the Burgundy he had drunk at Lord 
Such-a-one's. Each seemed to forget that he 
could only be interesting to the other in his 
proper character. Had the peer been merely a 
man of erudition, the author would never have 
listened to his prosing ; and had the author known 
all the nobility in the Court Calendar, it would 



NOTORIETY. 183 

have given him no interest in the eyes of the 
peer. 

" In the same way I have seen a fine lady, 
remarkable for beauty, weary a philosopher with 
flimsy metaphysics, while the philosopher put on 
an awkward air of gallantry, played with her fan, 
and prattled about the Opera. I have heard a 
sentimental poet talk very stupidly with a states- 
man about the national debt; and on joining a 
knot of scientific old gentlemen conversing in a 
corner, expecting to hear the discussion of some 
valuable discovery, I found they were only amus- 
ing themselves with a fat story." 




z' 



A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER. 




HE anecdotes I had heard of Buekthorne's 
early schoolmate, together with a vari- 
ety of peculiarities which I had remarked 
in himself, gave me a strong curiosity to know 
something of his own history. I am a traveller of 
the good old school, and am fond of the custom 
laid down in books, according to which, whenever 
travellers met, they sat down forthwith, and gave 
a history of themselves and their adventures. 
This Buckthorne, too, was a man much to my 
taste ; he had seen the world, and mingled with 
society, yet retained the strong eccentricities of a 
man who had lived much alone. There was a care- 
less dash of good-humor about him, which pleased 
me exceedingly ; and at times an odd tinge of 
melancholy mingled with his humor, and gave it 
an additional zest. Pie was apt to run into long 
speculations upon society and manners, and to 
indulge in whimsical views of human nature ; 
yet there was nothing ill-tempered in his satire. 
It ran more upon the follies than the vices of 
mankind ; and even the*follies of his fellow-man 
were treated with the leniency of one Avho felt 
himself to be but frail. He had evidently been 
a little chilled and buffeted by fortune, without 



A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER. 185 

being soared thereby : as some fruits become 
mellower and more generous in their flavor from 
having been bruised and frost-bitten. 

T have always had a great relish for the con- 
versation of practical philosophers of this stamp, 
who have profited by the " sweet uses " of adver- 
sity without imbibing its bitterness ; who have 
learnt to estimate the world rightly, yet good-hu- 
moredly ; and who, while they perceive the truth 
of the saying, that " all is vanity," are yet able to 
do so without vexation of spirit. " 

Such a man was Buckthorne. In general a 
laughing philosopher ; and if at any time a shade 
of sadness stole across his brow, it was bm tran- 
sient ; like a summer cloud, which soon goes by, 
and freshens and revives the fields over which i 
passes. 

I was walking with him one day in Kensing- 
ton Gardens, — for he was a knowing epicure in all 
the cheap pleasures and rural haunts within reach 
of the metropolis. It was a delightful warm 
mornmg in spring ; and he was in the happy 
mood of a pastoral citizen, when just turned loose 
into o-rass and sunshine. He had been watchins; 
a lark which, rising from a bed of daisies and 
yellow-cups, had sung his way up to a bright 
snowy cloud floating in the deep blue sky. 

" Of all birds," said he, " I should Hke to be a 
lark. He revels in the brightest time of the day 
hi the happiest season of the year, among fresh 
meadows and opening flowers ; and when he has 
sated himself with the sweetness of earth, he 
wing^ his flight up to heaven as if he would drink 



186 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

in the melody of the morning stars. Hark to 
that note ! How it comes thrilling down upon 
the ear ! What a stream of music, note fall- 
ing over note in delicious cadence ! Who would 
trouble his head about operas and concerts when 
he could walk in the fields and hear such music 
for nothing ? These are the enjoyments which 
set riches at scorn, and make even a poor man 
independent : 

" ' I care not, Fortjine, what you do deny : 

rou cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; 

You cannot shut the Avindows of the sky, 
Through which Aurora shows her bright' ning face ; 
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 

The woods and lawns by living streams at eve ' 

" Sir, there are homilies in nature's works worth 
all the wisdom of the schools, if we could but read 
them rightly, and one of the pleasantest lessons 
T ever received in time of trouble, was from hear- 
snsf the notes of the lark." 

I profited by this communicative vein to inti- 
mate to Buckthorne a wish to know somethins: of 
the events of his life, which I fancied must have 
been an eventful one. 

He smiled when I expressed my desire. " I 
have no great story," said he, " to relate. A 
mere tissue of errors and follies. But, such as it 
is, you shall have one epoch of it, by which you 
may judge of the rest." And so, without any 
further prelude, he gave me the following anec« 
dotes of his early adventures. 




BUCKTHOENE : 



OB, 




,THB rOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 

WAS born to very little property, but to 
great expectations — which is, perhaps, 
one of the most unlucky fortunes a man 
can be born to. My father was a country gen- 
tleman, the last of a very ancient and honorable, 
but decayed family, and resided in an old hunting- 
lodge in Warwickshire. He was a keen sports- 
man, and lived to the extent of his moderate in- 
come, so that I had little to expect from that 
quarter; but then I had a rich uncle by the 
mother's side, a penurious, accumulating curmud- 
geon, who it was confidently expected w^ould 
make me his heir, because he was an old bach- 
elor, because I was named after him, and because * 
he hated all the world except myself. 

He was, in fact, an inveterate hater, a miser 
even in misantln-opy, and hoarded up a grudge 
as he did a guinea. Thus, though my mother 
was an only sister, he had never forgiven her 
flaarriage with my father, against whom he had a 
sold, still, immovable pique, which had lain at 
the bottom of his heart, like a stone in a well, 
ever since they had been school-boys together. 



188 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

My motlier, however, considered me as the inter- 
mediate being that was to bring everything again 
into harmony, for she looked upon me as a prod- 
igy — God bless her ! my heart overflows wlien- 
ever I recall her tenderness. She was the most 
excellent, the most indulgent of mothers. T was 
her only child : it was a pity she had no more, 
for she had fondness of heart enough to have 
spoiled a dozen ! 

I was sent at an early age to a public school, 
sorely against my mother's wishes ; but my father 
insisted that it was the only way to make boys 
hardy. The school was kept by a conscientious 
prig of the ancient system, who did his duty by 
the boys intrusted to his care, — that is to say, 
we were flogged soundly when we did not get 
our lessons. We were put in classes, and thus 
flogged on in droves along the highway of knowl- 
edge, in much the same manner as cattle are 
driven to market ; where those that are heavy in 
gait, or short in leg, have to suffer for the supe- 
rior alertness or longer limbs of their compan- 
ions. 

For my part, I confess it with shame, I was 
an incorrigible laggard. I have always had the 
poetical feeling, that is to say, I have always been 
an idle fellow, and prone to play the vagabond. 
I used to get away from my books and school 
whenever I could, and ramble about the fields, 
I was surrounded by seductions for such a tem- 
perament. The school-house was an old-fashioned 
whitewashed mansion, of wood and plaster, stand- 
ing on the skirts of a beautiful village : close by 



BVCKTHORNE. 189 

it was the venerable church, with a tall Gothic 

spire ; before it spread a lovely green valley, with 
a little stream glistening cilong through willow 
groves ; while a line of blue hills bounding the 
landscape gave rise to many a summer-day-dream 
as to the fairy land that lay beyond. 

In spite of all the scourgings I suffered at that 
school to make me love my book, I cannot but 
look back upon the place with fondness. Indeed, 
I considered this frequent flagellation as the com- 
mon lot of humanity, and the regular mode in 
which scholars were made. 

My kind mother used to lament over my de- 
tails of the sore trials I underwent in the cause 
of learning ; but my father turned a deaf ear to 
her expostulations. He had been flogged through 
school himself, and he swore there was no other 
way of making a man of parts ; though, let me 
speak it with all due reverence, my father was 
but an indifferent illustration of his theory, for 
he was considered a grievous blockhead. 

My poetical temperament evinced itself at a 
very early period. The village church was at- 
tended every Sunday by a neighboring squu'e, the 
lord of the manor, whose park stretched quite to 
the village, and whose spacious country-seat 
seemed to take the church under Its protection. 
Indeed, you would have thought the church had 
been consecrated to him instead of to the Deity. 
The parish clerk bowed low before him, and the 
vergers humbled themselves unto the dust in his 
presence. He always entered a little latt, and 
with some stir ; striking his cane emphatically on 



190- TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

the ground, swaying his hat in his hand, and 
looking loftily to the right and left as he walked 
slowly up the aisle ; and the parson, who always 
ate his Sunday dinner with him, never commenced 
service until he appeared. He sat with his fam- 
ily in a large pew, gorgeously lined, bumbling 
himself devoutly on velvet cushions, and reading 
lessons of meekness and lowliness of spirit out of 
splendid gold and morocco prayer-books. When- 
ever the parson spoke of the difficulty of a rich 
man's entering the kingdom of heaven, the eyes 
of the cono;reofation would turn towards the 
"grand pew," and I thought the squire seemed 
pleased with the application. 

The pomp of this pew, and the aristocratical 
air of the family struck my imagination wonder- 
fully ; and I fell desperately in love with a little 
daughter of the squire's, about twelve years of 
age. This freak of fancy made me more truant 
from my studies than ever. I used to stroll 
about the squire's park, and lurk near the house, 
to catch glimpses of this damsel at the wmdowS; 
or playing about the lawn, or walking out with 
her governess. 

I had not enterprise nor impudence enough to 
venture from my concealment. Indeed I felt like 
an arrant poacher, until I read one or two of 
Ovid's Metamorphoses, when I pictured myself 
as some sylvan deity, and she a coy wood-nymph 
of whom I was in pursuit. There is something 
extremely delicious in these early awakenings of the 
tender passion. I can feel even at this moment 
the throbbing in ray boyish bosom, whenever bj 



BUCKTEURNE. 191 

chance I caught a glimpse of her white frock 
fluttering among the shrubbery. I carried about 
in my bosom' a volume of Waller, which I had 
purloined from my mother's library ; and I ap- 
plied to my little fair one all the compliments lav- 
ished upon Sacharissa. 

At length I danced with her at a school-ball. 
I was so awkward a booby, that I dared scarce- 
ly speak to her ; I was filled with awe and em- 
barrassment in her presence ; but I was so in- 
spired, that my poetical temperament for the first 
time broke out in verse, and I fabricated some 
glowing rhymes, in which I berhymed the little 
lady under the favorite name of Sacharissa. I 
slipped the verses, trembling and blushing, into 
her hand the next Sunday as she came out of 
church. The little prude handed them to her 
mamma ; the mamma handed them to the squire ; 
the squire, who had no soul for poetry, sent them 
in dudgeon to the schoolmaster ; and the school- 
master, with a barbarity worthy of the dark ages, 
gave me a sound and peculiarly humiliating flog- 
ging for thus trespassing upon Parnassus. This 
was a sad outset for a votary of the Muse ; it 
ought to have cured me of my passion for poetry ; 
but it only confirmed it, for I felt the spirit of a 
martyr rising within me. What was as well, 
perhaps, it cured me of my passion for the young 
lady ; for I felt so indignant at the ignominious 
horsing I had incurred in celebrating her charms, 
that I could not hold up my head in church. 
Fortunately for my wounded sensibility, the Mid- 
8ummfir holidays came on, and I returned home 



192 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Mj mother, as usual, inquired into all my school 
concerns, my little pleasures, and cares, and sor- 
rows ; for boyhood has its share of the one as 
well as of the other. I told her all, and she was 
indignant at the treatment I had experienced. 
She fired up at the arrogance of the squire, and 
the prudery of the daughter ; and as to the school- 
master, she wondered where was the use of hav- 
ing schoolmasters, and why boys could not remain 
at home, and be educated by tutors, under the 
eye of their mothers. She asked to see the 
verses I had written, and she was delighted 
with them ; for, to confess the truth, she had a 
pretty taste for poetry. She even showed them 
to the parson's wife, who protested they were 
charming ; and the parson's three daughters in- 
sisted on each having a copy of them. 

All this was exceedingly balsamic ; and I was 
still more consoled and encouraged when the 
young ladies, who were the bluestockings of the 
neighborhood, and had read Dr. Johnson's Lives 
quite through, assured my mother that great gen- 
iuses never studied, but were always idle ; upon 
which I began to surmise that I was myself some- 
thing out of the common run. My father, how- 
ever, was of a very different opinion ; for when 
my mother, in the pride of her heart, showed 
him my copy of verses, he threw them out of tlie 
window, asking her " if she meant to make a 
ballad-monger of the boy ? " But he was a care- 
less, common-thinking man, and I cannot say that 
I ever loved him much ; my mother absorbed all 
my filial affection. 



BUCKTHORNE. 193 

I used occasionally, on holidays, to be sent on 
short visits to the uncle who was to make me his 
heir ; they thought it would keep me in his mind, 
and render him fond of me. He was a withered, 
anxious-looking, old fellow, and lived in a deso- 
late old country-seat, which he suffered to go to 
ruin from absolute niggardliness. He kept but 
one man-servant, who had lived, or rather starved 
with him for years. No woman was allowed to 
sleep in the house. A daughter of the old ser- 
vant lived by iho, gate, in what had been a por- 
ter's lodge, and was permitted to come into the 
house about an hour each day, to make the beds, 
and cook a morsel of provisions. The park that 
surrounded the house was all run wild : the trees 
vrere grown out of shape ; the fish-ponds stag- 
nant ; the urns and statues fallen from their ped- 
estals, and buried among the rank grass. The 
hares and phetisants were so little molested, ex- 
cept by poachers, that they bred in great abun- 
dance, and sported about the rough law^ns and 
weedy avenues. To guard the premises, and 
frighten off robbers, of whom he was somewhat 
apprehensive, and visitors, of whom he was in 
almost equal awe, my uncle kept two or three 
bloodhounds, who were always prowling round 
the house, and were the dread of the neighboring 
peasantry. They were gaunt and half starved, 
seemed ready to devour one from mere hunger, 
and were an effectual check on any stranger's 
approach to this wizard castle. 

Such was my uncle's house, which I used to 
visit now and th^n during the holidays. I was 
13 



J 94 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

BS I before said, the old man's favorite ; that is to 
say, he did not hate me so much as he did the 
rest of the world. I had been apprised of his 
character, and cautioned to cultivate his good 
will ; but I was too joung and careless to be a 
courtier, and, indeed, have never been sufficiently 
studious of my interests to let them govern my 
feelings. However, we jogged on very well to- 
gether, and as my visits cost him almost nothing, 
they did not seem to be very unwelcome. I 
brought with me my fishing-rod, and half sup- 
plied the table from the fish-ponds. 

Our meals were solitary and unsocial. My 
uncle rarely spoke ; he pointed to whatever he 
wanted, and the servant perfectly understood him. 
Indeed, his man John, or Iron John, as he v/as 
called in the neighborhood, was a counterpart of 
his master. He was a tall, bony old fellow, with 
a dry wig, that seemed made of cow's-tail, and a 
face as touo;h as though it had been made of cow's- 
hide. He was generally clad in a long, patched 
livery coat, taken out of the wardrobe of the 
house, and which bagged loosely about him, hav- 
ing evidently belonged to some corpulent prede- 
cessor, in the more plenteous days of the mansion. 
From long habits of taciturnity the hinges of his 
jaws seemed to have grown absolutely rusty, and 
it cost him as much effort to set them ajar, and 
to let out a tolerable sentence, as it would have 
done to set open the iron gates of the park, and 
let out the old family carriage, that was dropping 
to pieces in the coach-house. 

I cannot say, however, but that I was toi 



BUCKTHORNE. 195 

some time amused with my uncle's peculiarities. 
Even the very desolateness of tlie establishment 
had something in it that hit my fancy. When 
the weather was fine, I used to amuse myself in 
a solitary way, by rambling about the park, and 
coursing like a coll across its lawns. The hares 
and pheasants seemed to stare with surpri.-je to see 
a human being walking these forbidden grounds 
by daylight. Sometimes I amused myself by 
jerking stones, or shooting at birds with a bow 
and arrows ; for to have used a gun would have 
been treason. Now and then my path was 
crossed by a little red-headed, ragged-tailed ur- 
chin, the son of the woman at the lodge, who ran 
wild about the premises. I tried to draw him 
into familiarity, and to make a companion of him, 
but he seemed to have imbibed the strange un- 
sociable character of everything around him, 
and always "kept aloof; so I considered him as 
another Orson, and amused myself with shooting 
at him with my bow and arrows, and he would 
hold up his breeches with one hand, and scamper 
away like a deer. 

There was something in all this loneliness and 
wildness strangely pleasiug to me. The great 
stables, empty and v/eather-broken, with the names 
31 favorite horses over the vacant stalls ; the 
windows bricked and boarded up ; the broken 
rool's, garrisoned by rooks and jackdaws, all had 
a siiigularly forlorn appearance. One would 
Uave concluded the house to be totally uninhab- 
ited, were it not for the little thread of blue suioko 
tvliich nmv and then curled up, like a corkscrew, 



196 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

from the centre of one of the wide chimneys 
where ray uncle's starveling meal was cooking. 

My uncle's room was in a remote corner of the 
building, strongly secured, fuid generally locked. 
I was never admitted into this strong-hold, where 
the old man would remain for the greater part of 
the time, drawn up, like a veteran spider, in the 
citadel of his web. The rest of the mansion, 
however, was open to me, and I wandered about 
it unconstrained. The damp and rain which 
beat in through the broken windows, crumbled 
the paper from the walls, mouldered the pictures, 
and gradually destroyed the furniture. I loved 
to roam about the wide waste chambers in bad 
weather, and listen to the howling of the wind, 
and the bano-ino; about of the doors and window- 
shutters. I pleased myself with the idea how 
completely, when I came to the estate, I would 
renovate all things, and make the old building 
ring with merriment, till it was astonished at its 
own jocundity. 

Tiie chamber which I occupied on these visits, 
had been my mother's when a girl. There was 
still the toilet-table of her own adorning, the 
landsca[)es of her own drawing. Slie had never 
seen it since her marriage, but would often ask 
me, if everything was still the same. All was 
just the same, for 1 loved that cliamber on her 
account, and had taken pains to put everything 
in order, and to mend all tlie flaws in the win- 
dows with my own hands. I anticipated the 
time when I should once more welcome her to 
the house of her ththei'S, and restore her to thia 
littJe nestling-place of her childhood. 



BUCKTBORNE. 19/ 

At leDgth my evil genius, or what, perhaps, is 
the same thing, the Muse, inspired me with the 
notion of rhyming again. My uncle, who never 
went to church, used on Sundays to read chapters 
out of the Bible ; and Iron John, the woman 
from the lodge, and myself, were his congrega- 
tion. It seemed to be all one to him wliat he 
read, so long as it was something from the Bible. 
Sometimes, therefore, it would be the Song of 
Solomon, and this withered anatomy would read 
about being " stayed with flagons, and com- 
forted with apples, for he was sick of love." 
Sometimes he would hobble, with spectacles on 
nose, through whole chapters of hard Hebrew 
names in Deuteronomy, at which the poor woman 
would sigh and groan, as if wonderfully moved. 
His favorite book, however, was " The Pilgrim's 
Progress " ; and when he came to that part which 
treats of Doubting Castle and Giant Despair, I 
thought invariably of him and his desolate old 
country-seat. So much did the idea amuse me, 
that I took to scribbling about it under the trees 
in the park ; and in a few days had made some 
progress in a poem, in which I had given a de- 
scription of the place, under the name of Doubting 
Castle, and personified my uncle as Giant Despair. 

I lost my poem somewhere about the house, and 
I soon suspected that my uncle had found it, as he 
harshly intimated to me that I could return home^ 
and that I need not come and see him again till 
•1(3 should send for me. 

Just about this time my mother died. I can- 
aot dwell upon the circumstance. My heart, 



198 tales' OF A TRAVELLER. 

careless and wayward as it is, gushes with the 
recollection. Her death was an event that per- 
haps gave a turn to all my after fortunes. With 
her died all that made home attractive. T had 
no longer anybody whom I was ambitious to 
please, or fearful to offend. My father was a 
good kind of a man in his way, but he had bad 
maxims in education, and we differed in material 
points. It makes a vast difference in opinion 
about the utility of the rod, which end happens to 
fall to one's share. I never could be brought into 
my father's way of thinking on the subject. 

I now, therefore, began to grow very impatient 
of remainino; at school, to be floo^o;ed for thino-s 
that I did not like. I longed for variety, espe- 
cially now that I had not my uncle's house to 
resort to, by way of diversifying the dulness of 
school with the drearmess of his country-seat. 

I was now almost seventeen, tall for my age, 
and full of idle fancies. I had a roving, inextm- 
guishable desire to see different kinds of life, and 
different orders of society ; and this vagrant 
humor had been fostered in me by Tom Dribble, 
the prime wag and great genius of the school, 
who had all the rambling propensities of a poet. 

I used to sit at my desk in the school, on a fine 
summer's day, and instead of studying the book 
which lay open before me, my eye was gazing 
through the windows on the green fields and blue 
hills. How I envied the happy groups on the tops 
of stage-coaches, chatting, and joking, and laugh- 
ing, as they were whirled by the school-house on 
their way to the metropolis. Even the wiL^on- 



BUCKTEORNE. 199 

fcne, trudging along beside their ponderous teams, 
ai«i traversing the kingdom from one end to the 
otLer, were ..'bjects of envy to me : I fancied to 
myself what adventures they must experience, 
and what odd scenes of life they must witness. 
All this was, doubtless, the poetical temperament 
working within me, and tempting me forth into a 
world of its own creation, which I mistook for the 
world of real life. 

While my mother lived, this strong propensity 
to rove was counteracted by the stronger attrac- 
tions of home, and by the powerful ties of affectiou 
which drew me to her side ; but now that she 
was gone, the attraction had ceased ; the ties 
were severed. I had no longer an anchorage- 
ground for my heart, but was at the mercy of 
every vagrant impulse. Nothing but the narrow 
allowance on which my father kept me, and the 
consequent penury of my purse, prevented me 
from mounting to the top of a stage-coach, and 
launching myself adrift on the great ocean of life. 

Just about this time the villao-e was aoritated 
for a day or two, by the passing through of sev- 
eral caravans, containing wild beasts, and other 
spectacles, for a great fair annually held at a 
neighboring town. 

I had never seen a fair of any consequence, 
and my curiosity was powerfully awakened by 
this bustle of preparation. I gazed with respect 
and wonder at tlie vagrant personages who accom- 
panied these caravans. I loitered about the vil- 
lage inn, listening with curiosity and delight to 
the slang talk and cant jokes of the showmen and 



200 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

their followers ; and I felt an eager desire to wit- 
ness this fair, which my fancy decked out ag 
something wonderfully fine. 

A holiday afternoon presented, when I could bo 
absent from noon until evening. A wagon was 
ij:oin<2: from the villao-e to the fair ; 1 could not 
resist tlie temptation, nor the eloquence of Tom 
Dribble, who was a truant to the very heart's 
core. VYe hired seats, and set off full of boyish 
expectation. I promised myself that I would but 
take a peep at the land of promise, and hasten 
back again before my absence should be noticed. 

Heavens ! how happy I was on arriving at the 
fair ! How I was enchanted with the world of 
fun and pageantry around me ! The humors of 
Punch, the feats of the equestrians, the magical 
tricks of the conjurors ! But what principally 
caught my attention was an itinerant theatre, 
where a tragedy, pantomime, and farce were all 
acted in the course of half an hour, and more of 
the dramatis personas murdered than at either 
Drury Lane or Covent Garden in the course of a 
whole evening. I have since seen many a play 
performed by the best actors in the world, but 
never have I derived half the delight from any 
that I did from this first representation. 

There was a ferocious tyrant in a skullcap like 
an inverted porringer, and a dress of red baize, 
magnificently embroidered with gilt leather ; with 
his face so bewhiskered, and his eyebrows so knit 
and expanded with burnt cork, that he made my 
heart quake within me, as he stamped about tho> 
little stage. I was enraptured too with the surpass- 



BUCKTEORNE. 201 

big beauty of a distressed damsel in a faded pink 
silk, and dirty white muslin, vvliom he held in cruel 
captivity by way of gaining her affections, and 
who wept, and wrung her hands, and flourished a 
ragged white handkerchief, from the top of an 
impregnable tower of the size of a bandbox. 

Even after I had come out from the play, I 
could not tear myself from the vicinity of the the- 
atre, but lingered, gazing and wondering, and 
laughing at the dramatis personte as they per- 
formed their antics, or danced upon a stage in 
front of the booth, to decoy a new set of specta- 
tors. 

I was so bewildered by the scene, and so lost 
in the crowd of sensations that kept swarming 
u'^on me, that I was like one entranced. I lost 
my companion, Tom Dribble, in a tumult and 
scuffle that took place near one of the shows ; but 
T was too much occupied in mind to think long 
about him. I strolled about until dark, when the 
fair was lighted up, and a new scene of magic 
opened upon me. The illumination of the tents 
and booths, the brilliant effect of the stages deco- 
rated with lamps, with dramatic groups flaunting 
about them in gaudy dresses, contrasted splendidly 
with the surrounding darkness ; while the uproar 
of drums, trumpets, fiddles, hautboys, and (jymbals, 
mingled with the harangues of the showmen, the 
squeaking of Punch, and the shouts and laughter 
of the crowd, all united to complete my giddy 
distraction. 

Time flew without my perceiving it. When 1 
mrae to myself and thought of the school, I hast- 



202 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

ened to return. I inquired for the wagon in 
which I had come : it had been gone for hours ! 
I asked tlie time : it was ahnost midnight ! A 
sudden quaking seized me. How was I to get 
back to school ? I was too weary to make the 
journey on foot, and I knew not where to apply 
for a conveyance. Even if I should find one, 
could I venture to disturb the school-house long 
after midnight — to arouse that sleeping lion the 
usher in the very midst of his night's rest ? — the 
idea was too dreadful for a delinquent school-boy. 
All the horrors of return rushed upon me. My 
absence must Ions: before this have been re- 
marked; — and absent for a whole night! — -a 
deed of darkness not easily to be expiated. The 
rod of the pedagogue budded forth into tenfold 
terrors before my affrighted fancy. I pictured to 
myself punishment and humiliation in every vari- 
ety of form, and my heart sickened at the picture. 
Alas ! how often are the petty ills of boyhood as 
painful to our tender natures as are the sterner 
evils of manhood to our robuster mmds. 

I wandered about among the booths, and I might 
have derived a lesson from my actual feelmgs, 
how much the charms of this world depend upon 
ourselves ; for I no longer saw anything gay or 
delightful in the revelry around me. At lengtli 
I lay down, wearied and perplexed, behind one 
of the large tents, and, covering myself with the 
margin of the tent-cloth, to keep off the night 
chili, I soon fell asleep. 

I had not slept long, when I was awakened by 
the noise of merriment within an adjoining booth. 



BVCKTEORNE. 208 

It was the itinerant theatre, rudely constructed 
of boards and canvas. I peeped through an aper- 
ture, and saw the whole dramatis personge, trag- 
edy, comedy, and pantomime, all refreshing them- 
selves after the final dismissal of their auditors. 
They were merry and gamesome, and made the 
flimsy theatre ring with their laughter. I was 
astonished to see the tragedy tyrant in red baize 
and fierce whiskers, who had made my heart 
quake as he strutted about the boards, now trans- 
formed into a fat, good-humored fellow ; the beam- 
ing porringer laid aside from his brow, and his 
jolly face washed from all the terrors of burnt 
cork. I was delighted, too, to see the distressed 
damsel, in faded silk and dirty muslin, who had 
trembled under his tyranny, and afilicted me so 
much by her sorrows, now seated familiarly on 
his knee, and quaffing from the same tankard. 
Harlequin lay asleep on one of the benches ; and 
monks, satyrs, and vestal virgins were grouped 
together, laughing outrageously at a broad story 
told by an unhappy count, who had been barbar- 
ously murdered in the tragedy. 

This was indeed novelty to me. It was a 
peep into another planet. I gazed and listened 
with intense curiosity and enjoyment. They had 
a thousand odd stories and jokes about the events 
of the day, and burlesque descriptions and mim- 
ickings of the spectators who had been admiring 
them. Their conversation was full of allusions 
to their adventures at different places where they 
had exhibited ; the characters they had met with 
in different villages ; and the ludicrous difficulties 



204 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

in which they had occasionally been involved. 
All past cares and troubles were now turned, by 
these thouo-htless beins^s, into matters of merri- 
ment, and made to contribute to the gayety of the 
moment. They had been moving from fair to 
fair about the kingdom, and were the next morn- 
ing to set out on their way to London. My reso- 
lution was taken. I stole from my nest, and crept 
through a hedge into a neighboring field, where I 
went to work to make a tatterdemalion of myself. 
I tore my clothes ; soiled them with dirt ; be- 
grimed my face and hands, and crawling near 
one of the booths, purloined an old hat, and left 
my new one in its place. It was an honest theft, 
and I hope may not hereafter rise up in judgment 
against me. 

I now ventured to the scene of merry-making, 
and presenting myself before the dramatic corps, 
offered myself as a volunteer. I felt terribly 
ajjitated and abashed, for never before " stood I 
in such a presence." I had addressed myself to 
the manager of the company. He was a fat 
man, dressed in dirty white, with a red sash 
fringed with tinsel swathed round his body ; his 
face was smeared with paint, and a majestic 
plume towered from an old spangled black bon- 
net. He was the Jupiter Tonans of this Olym- 
pus, and was surrounded by the inferior gods 
and goddesses of his court. He sat on the end 
of a bench, by a table, with one arm akimbo, and 
the other extended to the handle of a tankard, 
which he had slowly set down from his lips, as 
he surveyed me from head to foot. It was a 



BUCKTHORNE. 205 

moment of awful scrutiny ; and I fancied the 
groups around, all watching as in silent suspense, 
and waiting for the imperial nod. 

He questioned nie as to who I was ; what 
were my qualifications ; and what terms I ex- 
pected. I passed myself off for a discharged 
servant from a gentleman's family ; and as, hap- 
pily, one does not require a special recommenda- 
tion to get admitted into bad company, the ques- 
tions on that head were easily satisfied. As to 
my accomplishments, I could spout a little poetry, 
and knew several scenes of plays, which I had 

learnt at school exhibitions ; I could dance . 

That was enough. No further questions were 
asked me as to accomplishments ; it was the very 
thing they wanted ; and as I asked no wages but 
merely meat and drink, and safe conduct about 
the world, a bargain was struck in a moment. 

Behold me, therefore, transformed in a sudden 
from a gentleman student to a dancing buffoon ; 
for such, in fact, was the character in which 
I made my debut. I was one of those who 
formed the groups in the dramas, and was prin- 
cipally employed on the stage in front of the 
booth to attract company. I was equipped as a 
satyr, in a dress of drab frieze that fitted to my 
shape, with a great laughing mask, ornamented 
with huge ears and short horns. I was pleased 
with the disguise, because it kept me from the 
danger of being discovered, whilst we were hi 
that part of the country ; and as I had merely to 
dance and make antics, the character was favor- 
able to a debutant — being almost on a par with 



206 TALES OF A TRAVELLEE, 

Simon Smug's part of the lion, which required 
nothing but roaring. 

I cannot tell you how happy I was at this 
sudden change in my situation. I felt no degra- 
dation, for I had seen too little of society to be 
thoughtful about the difference of rank ; and a 
boy of sixteen is seldom aristocratical. I had 
given up no friend, for there seemed to be no 
one in the world that cared for me, now that my 
poor mother was dead ; I had given up no pleas- 
ure, for my pleasure was to ramble about and 
indulge the flow of a poetical imagination, and I 
now enjoyed it in perfection. There is no life 
so truly poetical as that of a dancing buffoon. 

It may be said that all this argued grovelling 
inclinations. I do not think so. Not that I 
mean to vindicate myself in any great degree : 
I know too well what a whimsical compound I 
am. But in this instance I was seduced by no 
love of low company, nor disposition to indulge 
in low vices. I have always despised the bru- 
tally vulgar, and had a disgust at vice, whether 
in high or low life. I was governed merely by 
a sudden and thoughtless impulse. I had no 
idea of resorting to this profession as a mode of 
life, or of attaching myself to these people, as my 
future class of society. I thought merely of a 
temporary gratification to ray curiosity, and an 
indulgence of my humors. I had already a 
strong relish for the peculiarities of character and 
the varieties of situation, and I have always been 
fond of the comedy of life, and desirous of seeing 
it thj'ough all its shifting sceues. 



BUCKTHORNE. 207 

In mingling, therefore, among mountebanks 
and buffoons, I was protected by the very ^'ivaci- 
ty of imagination which had led me among them ; 
T moved about, enveloped, as it were, in a pro- 
tecting delusion, which my fancy spread around 
me. I assimilated to these people only as they 
struck me poetically ; their whimsical ways and 
a certain picturesqueness in their mode of life 
entertained me ; but I Avas neither amused nor 
corrupted by their vices. In short, I mingled 
among them, as Prince Hal did among his grace- 
less associates, merely to gratify my humor. 

I did not investigate my motives in this man- 
ner, at the time, for I was too careless and 
thoughtless to reason about the matter ; but I do 
so now, when I look back with trembling to 
think of the ordeal to which T unthinkingly ex- 
posed myself, and the manner in which I passed 
through it. Nothing, I am convinced, but the 
poetical temperament, that hurried me into the 
scrape, brought me out of it without my becom- 
ing an arrant vagabond. 

Full of the enjoyment of the moment, giddy 
with the wildness of animal spirits, so rapturous 
in a boy, I capered, I danced, I played a thou- 
sand fantastic tricks about the stage, in the vil- 
lages in wliich we exhibited ; and 1 w^as univer- 
sally pronounced the most agreeable monster that 
had ever been seen in those parts. My disap- 
pearance from school had aw^akened my father's 
anxiety ; for I one day heard a description of 
n>yself cried before the very booth in which I 
was exhibiting, with the offer of a reward for 



208 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

any intelligence of me. I had no great scruple 
about lettinfij my father suffer a little uneasiness 
on my account ; it would punish him for past in- 
difference, and would make him value me the 
more when he found me again. 

I have wondered that some of my comrades 
did not recognize me in the stray sheep that was 
cried ; but they were all, no doubt, occupied by 
their own concerns. They were all laboring 
seriously in their aixcic vocation ; for folly was a 
mere trade with most of them, and they often 
grinned and capered with heavy hearts. With 
me, on the contrary, it was all real. I acted con 
amore^ and rattled and laughed from the irrepres- 
sible gayety of my spirits. It is true that, now 
and then, I started and looked grave on receiv- 
ing a sudden thwack from the wooden sword of 
Harlequin in the course of my gambols, as it 
brought to mind the birch of my schoolmaster. 
But I soon got accustomed to it, and bore all the 
cuffing, and kicking, and tumbling about, which 
form the practical wit of your itinerant panto- 
mime, with a good-humor that made me a prodig- 
ious favorite. 

Tlie country campaign of the troop was soon 
at an end, and we set off for the metropolis, to 
perform at the fairs which are held in its vicin- 
ity. The greater part of our theatrical property 
was sent on dii'cct, to be in a state of preparation 
for the opening of the fairs ; while a detachment 
of the company travelled slowly on, foraging 
amonjTT the villaoes. I was amused with the de- 
Bultory, hap-hazard kind of life we led ; here to- 



BUCKTHORNE. 209 

day and gone to-morrow. Sometimes revelling in 
ale-houses, sometimes feasting under hedges in the 
green fields. When audiences were crowded, and 
business profitable, we fared well ; and when 
otherwise, we fared scantily, consoled ourselves, 
and made up with anticipations of the next day's 
success. 

At length the increasing frequency of coaches 
hurrying past us, covered with passengers ; the 
increasing number of carriages, carts, wagons, 
gigs, droves of cattle and flocks of sheep, all 
thronging the road ; the snug country boxes with 
trim flower-gardens, twelve feet square, and their 
trees twelve feet high, all powdered with dust, 
and tlie innumerable seminaries for young ladies 
and gentlemen situated along the road for the 
benefit of country air and rural retirement ; all 
these insignia announced that the mighty London 
was at hand. The hurry, and the crowd, and the 
bustle, and the noise, and the dust, increased as 
we proceeded, until I saw the great cloud of 
smoke hanging in the air, like a canopy of state, 
over this queen of cities. 

In this way, then, did I enter the metropolis, 
a strolling vagabond, on the top of a caravan, 
with a crew of vagabonds about me ; bat I was 
as happy as a prince ; for, like Prince Hal, I felt 
myself superior to my situation, and knew that I 
could at any time cast it off, and emerge into my 
proper sphere. 

How my eyes sparkled as we passed Hyde 
Park Corner, and I saw splendid equipages roll- 
ing by ; with powdered footmen behind, in rich 
14 



210 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

liveries, with fine nosegays, and gold-headed cane? 
and with lovely women within, so suraptuouslv 
dressed, and so surpassingly fair ! I was always 
extremely sensible to female beauty, and here I 
saw it in all its powers of fascination : for what- 
ever may be said of " beauty unadorned," tliero 
is something almost awful in female loveliness 
decked out in jewelled state. The swanlike neck 
encircled with diamonds ; the raven locks clus- 
tered with pearls ; the ruby glowing on the 
sBowy bosom, are objects which I could never 
contemplate without emotion ; and a dazzling 
white arm clasped with bracelets, and taper, 
transparent fingers, laden with sparkling rings, 
are to me irresistible. 

My very eyes ached as I gazed at the high 
and courtly beauty before me. It surpassed all 
that my imagination had conceived of the sex. 
I shrank, for a moment, into shame at the com- 
pany in which I was placed, and repined at the 
vast distance that seemed to intervene between 
me and these magnificent beings. 

I forbear to give a detail of the happy life I 
led about the skirts of the metropolis, playing at 
the various fairs held there during the latter part 
of spring, and the beginning of summer. This 
continued change from place to place, and scene 
to scene, fed my imagination with novelties, and 
kept my spirits in a perpetual state of excitement. 
As I was tall of my age, I aspired, at one time, 
to play heroes in tragedy ; but, after two or three 
trials, I was pronounced by the manager totally 
unfit for the line ; and our first tragic actress 



BUCK THORNE. 21 1 

who was a large woman, and held a small hero 
in abhorrence, confirmed his decision. 

The fact is, I had attempted to give point to 
language which had no point, and nature to scenes 
which had no nature. They said I did not fill 
out my characters ; and they were right. The 
characters had all been prepared for a different 
sort of man. Our tragedy hero was a round, 
robustious fellow, with an amazing voice ; who 
stamped and slapped his breast until his wig 
shook again ; and who roared and bellowed out 
his bombast until every phrase swelled upon the 
ear like the sound of a kettle-drum. I might as 
well have attempted to fill out his clothes as his 
characters. When we had a dialoorue together, I 
was nothing before him, with my slender voice 
and discriminating manner. I might as well have 
attempted to parry a cudgel with a small-sword. 
If he found me in any way gaining ground upon 
him, he would take refuge in his mighty voice, 
and throw his tones like peals of thunder at me, 
until they were drowned in the still louder thun- 
ders of applause from the audience. 

To tell the truth, I suspect that I was not 
shown fair play, and that there was management 
at the bottom ; for without vanity I think I was 
d better actor than he. As I had not embarked 
in the vagabond line through ambition, I did not 
repine at lack of preferment ; but I was grieved 
to find that a vagrant life was not without its 
cares and anxieties ; and that jealousies, in- 
trigues, and mad ambition, were to be found 
3ven among vagabonds. 



212 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Indeed, as I became more familiar with my 
situation, and the delusions of fancy gradually 
faded away, I began to find that my associates 
were not the happy careless creatures I had at 
first imagined them. They were jealous of each 
other's talents ; they quarrelled about parts, the 
same as the actors on the grand theatres ; they 
quarrelled about dresses ; and there was one robe 
of yellow silk, trimmed with red, and a head- 
dress of three rumpled ostrich-feathers, which 
were continually setting the ladies of the company 
by the ears. Even those who had attained the 
highest honors were not more happy than the 
rest ; for Mr. Flimsey himself, our first tragedian, 
and apparently a jovial good-humored fellow, con- 
fessed to me one day, in the fulness of his heart, 
that he was a miserable man. He had a brother- 
in-law, a relative by marriage, though not by 
blood, who was manager of a theatre in a small 
country town. And this same brother (" a little 
more than kin but less than kind") looked down 
upon him, and treated him with contumely, be- 
cause, forsooth, he was but a strolling player. I 
tried to console him with the thoughts of the vast 
applause he daily received, but it was all in vain. 
He declared that it gave him no delight, and that 
he should never be a happy man, until the name 
of Flimsey rivalled the name of Crimp. 

How little do those before the scenes know of 
what passes behind ! how little can they judge, 
from the countenances of actors, of what is pass-. 
ing in their hearts ! I have known two lovers 
quarrel like cats behind the scenes, who were, 



BUCKTHORN E. 213 

the moment after, to fly into each oth( r's em- 
braces. And I have dreaded, when our Belvidera 
was to take her farewell kiss of her JafRer, lest 
she should bite a piece out of his cheek. Our 
tragedian Avas a rough joker off the stage ; our 
prime clown the most peevish mortal living. Tiie 
latter used to go about snapping and snarling, 
with a broad laugh painted on his countenance ; 
and I can assure you, that, whatever may be said 
of the gravity of a monkey, or the melancholy of 
a gibed cat, there is no more melancholy creature 
in existence than a mountebank off duty. 

The only thing in which all parties agreed, was 
to backbite the manager, and cabal against his 
regulations. This, liowever, I have since discov- 
ered to be a common trait of human nature, and 
to take place in all communities. It would seem 
to be the main business of man to repine at gov- 
ernment. In all situations of life, into which 1 
have looked, I have found mankind divided into 
two grand parties : those who ride, and those who 
are ridden. The grreat struo-ofle of life seems to 
be which shall keep in the saddle. This, it 
appears to me, is the fundamental principle of 
politics, whether in great or little life. However, 
I do not mean to moralize — but one cannot 
always sink the philosopher. 

Well, then, to return to myself, it was deter 
mined, as I said, that I was not fit for tragedy, 
and, unluckily, as my study was bad, having a 
rery poor memory, I was pronounced unfit for 
comedy also ; besides, the line of young gentle- 
men was already engrossed by an actor with 



214 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

whom T could not pretend to enter into competi- 
tion, he having filled it for almost half a century. 
I came down again, therefore, to pantomime. In 
consequence, hoAvever, of the good offices of the 
manager's lady, who had taken a liking to me, I 
was promoted from the part of the satyr to that 
of the lover ; and with my face patched and 
painted, a huge cravat of paper, a steeple-crowned 
hat, and dangling long-skirted sky-blue coat, was 
metamorphosed into the lover of Columbine. 
My part did not call for much of the tender and 
sentimental. I had merely to pursue the fugitive 
fair one ; to have a door now and then slammed 
m my face ; to run my head occasionally against 
a post ; to tumble and roll about with Pantaloon 
and the Clown ; and to endure the hearty thwacks 
of Harlequin's wooden sword. 

As ill luck would have it, my poetical temper- 
ament beo;an to ferment within me, and to work 
out new troubles. The inflammatory air of a 
great metropolis, added to the rural scenes in 
which the fairs were held, such as Greenwich 
Park, Epping Forest, and the lovely valley of 
the West End, had a powerful efi^ect upon me. 
While in Greenwich Park, I was witness to the 
old holiday games of running down - hill, and 
kissing in the rlno; ; and then the firmament of 
blooming faces and blue eyes that would be turned 
towards me, as I was playing antics on the stage ; 
all these set my young blood and my poetical vein 
in full flow. In short, I played the character to 
the life, and became desperately enamored of 
Columbine. She was a trim, well-made, tempt* 



BUCKTHORNE. 215 

hig girl, with a roguish dimpling face, and fine 
chestnut hair clustering all about it. The moment 
I got fairly smitten, there was an end to all play- 
ing. I was such a creature of fancy and feeling, 
that I could not put on a pretended, when I was 
powerfully affected by a real emotion- I could 
not sport with a fiction that came so near to the 
fact. I became too natural in my acting to suc- 
ceed. And then, what a situation for a lover ! I 
was a mere stripling, and she played with my 
passion ; for girls soon grow more adroit and 
knowing in these matters than your awkward 
youngsters. What agonies had I to suffer ! Every 
time that she danced in front of the booth, and 
made such liberal displays , of her charms, I was 
in torment. To complete my misery, I had a 
real rival in Harlequin, an active, vigorous, know- 
ing varlet, of six-and-twenty. What had a raw, 
inexperienced youngster like me to hope from 
such a competition ? 

I had still, however, some advantages in my 
favor. In spite of my change of life, I retained 
that indescribable something which always distin- 
guishes the gentleman : that something which 
dwells in a man's air and deportment, and not in 
his clothes ; and which is as difficult for a gen- 
tleman to put off, as for a vulgar fellow to put 
on. The company generally felt it, and used to 
call me Little Gentleman Jack. The girl felt it 
too, and, in spite of her predilection for my pow- 
erful rival, she liked to flirt with me. This only 
aggravated my troubles, by increasing my passion, 
and awakening the jealousy of her party-colored 
lover. 



216 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Alas ! think what I suffered at bemij obli2:ed 
to keep up an ineffectual chase after my Colum- 
bine through whole pantomimes ; to see her 
carried off in the vigorous arms of the happy 
Harlequin ; and to be obliged, instead of snatch- 
ing her from him, to tumble sprawling with Pan- 
taloon and the Clown, and bear the infernal and 
degrading thwacks of my rival's weapon of lath, 
which, may heaven confound him ! (excuse my 
passion,) the villain laid on Avith a malicious good- 
will : nay, I could absolutely hear liim chuckle 
and lauo^h beneath his accursed mask ; — I he^ 
pardon for growing a little warm in my narrative 
— I wish to be cool, but these recollections will 
sometimes asjitate me. I have heard and read 
of many desperate and deplorable situations of 
lovers, but none, I think, in which true love was 
3ver exposed to so severe and peculiar a trial. 

This could not last long ; flesh and blood, at 
least such flesh and blood as mine, could not bear 
it. I had repeated heart-burnings and quarrels 
with my rival, in which he treated me with the 
mortifying forbearance of a man towards a child. 
Had he quarrelled outright with me, I could have 
stomached it, at least I should have known what 
part to take ; but to be humored and treated as a 
:;hild in the presence of my mistress, when I felt 
all the bantam spirit of a little man swelling 
within me — Gods ! it was insufferable ! 

At length, we were exhibiting one day at 
West End fair, which was at that time a very 
fashionable resort, and often beleaguered with 
gay equipages from town. Among the specta- 



BUCKTHORNE. 217 

tors that filled the first row of our little canvas 
theatre one afternoon, when I had to fio;ure in a 
pantomime, were a number of youno^ ladies from 
a boarding-school, with their governess. Guess 
my confusion, when, in the midst of my antics, 1 
beheld among the number my quondam fiame ; 
her whom I had berhymed at school, her for 
whose charms I had smarted so severely, the 
cruel Sacharissa ! What was worse, I fancied 
she recollected me, and was repeating the story 
of my humiliating flagellation, for I saw her 
whispering to her companions and her governess. 
I lost all consciousness of the part I was acting, 
and of the place where I was. I felt shrunk to 
nothing, and could have crept into a rat-hole, — 
unluckily, none was open to receive me. Before 
I could recover from my confusion, I was tum- 
bled over by Pantaloon and the Clown, and I 
felt the sword of Harlequin making vigorous 
assaults in a manner most degrading to my dig- 
nity. 

Heaven and earth ! was I again to suffer mar- 
tyrdom in this ignominious manner, in the knowl- 
edge, and even before the very eyes of this most 
beautiful, but most disdainful of fair ones ? All 
my long-smothered wrath broke out at once ; the 
dormant feelings of the gentleman arose within me. 
Stung to the quick by intolerable mortification, I 
sprang on my feet in an instant ; leaped upon 
Harlequin like a young tiger ;' tore off his mask ; 
buffeted him in the face ; and soon shed more 
blood on the stage than had been spilt upon it 
luring a whole tragic campaign of battles and 
nurders. 



218 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

As soon as Harlequin recovered from his sur« 
prise, he returned my assault with interest. I was 
nothing in his hands. I was game, to be sure, 
for I was a gentleman ; but he had the clownish 
advantage of bone and muscle. I felt as if 1 
could have fought even unto the death ; and I 
was likely to do so, for he was, according to the 
boxing phrase, " putting my head into chancery," 
when the gentle Columbine flew to my assistance. 
God bless the women ! they are always on the 
side of the weak and the oppressed ! 

The battle now became general ; the dramatis 
personam ranged on either side. The manager 
interposed in vain ; in vain were his spangled 
black bonnet and towering white feathers seen 
whisking about, and nodding, and bobbing in the 
thickest of the fight. Warriors, ladies, priests, 
satyrs, kings, queens, gods, and goddesses, all 
joined pell-mell in the affray ; never, since the 
conflict under the walls of Troy, had there been 
such a chance-medley warfare of combatants, hu- 
man and divine. The audience applauded, the 
ladies shrieked, and fled from the theatre ; and a 
scene of discord ensued that baffles all descrip- 
tion. 

Nothing but the interference of the peace-offi- 
cers restored some degree of order. The havoc, 
however, among dresses and decorations, put an 
end to all further acting for that day. The bat- 
tle over, the next thing was to inquire why it 
was begun : a common question among politicians 
after a bloody and unprofitable war, and one nol 
always easy to be answered. It was soon traced 



BUCKTHORNE. 219 

to me, and my unaccountable transport of passion, 
which they could only attribute to my having 
run a muck. The manager was judge and jury, 
and plaintiff into the bargain ; and in such cases 
justice is always speedily administered. He 
came out of the fisfht as sublime a wreck as the 
Santissima Trinidada. His gallant plumes, which 
once towered aloft, were drooping about his ears ; 
his robe of state liung in ribbons from his back, 
and but ill concealed the ravages he had suffered 
in the rear. He had received kicks and cuffs 
from all sides during the tumult ; for every one 
took the opportunity of slyly gratifying some 
lurking grudge on his fat carcass. He was 
a discreet man, and did not choose to declare war 
with all his company, so he swore all those kicks 
and cuffs had been given by me, and I let him 
enjoy the opinion. Some wounds he bore, how- 
ever, which were the incontestable traces of a 
woman's warfare^ : his sleek rosy cheek was scored 
by trickling furrows, which were ascribed to the 
nails of my intrepid and devoted Columbine. 
The ire of the monarch 'S'v^as not to be appeased ; 
he had suffered in his person, and he had suffered 
in his purse ; his dignity, too, had been insulted, 
and that went for something ; for dignity is always 
more irascible, tlie more petty the potentate. He 
wreaked his wrath upon the beginners ef the affray, 
and Columbine and myself were discharged, at 
once, from the company. 

Figure me, then, to yourself, a stripling of lit- 
tle more than sixteen, a gentleman by Ijirth, a 
Vagabond by trade, turned adrift upon the world, 



220 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

making the best of my way through tlie crowtl 
of West End fair; my mountebank dress flutter- 
ing in rags about me ; tlie weeping Columbine 
hanging upon my arm, in splendid but tattered 
finery ; the tears coursing one by one down her 
face, carrying off tlie red paint in torrents, and 
literally " preying upon her damask cheek." 

The crowd made way for us as we passed, and 
hooted in our rear. I felt the ridicule of my sit- 
uation, but had too much gallantry to desert this 
fair one, Avho had sacrificed everything for me. 
Having wandered through the fliir, Ave emerged, 
like another Adam and Eve, into unknown re- 
gions, and " had the world before us where to 
choose." Never Avas a more disconsolate pair 
seen in the soft valley of West End. The luck- 
less Columbine cast many a lingering look at the 
fair, Avhich seemed to put on a more than usual 
splendor : its tents, and booths, and party-col- 
ored groups, all brightening in the sunshine, and 
gleaming among the trees ; and its gay flags 
and streamers fluttering in the light summer airs. 
With a heavy sigh she Avoukl lean on my arm 
and proceed. I had no hope nor consolation to 
give her ; but she Imd linked herself to my for- 
tunes, and she Avas too much of a woman to 
desert me. 

Pensive and silent, then, aa^c traversed the 
beautiful fields Avhich lie behind Hampstead, and 
wandered on, until the fiddle, and the hautboy, 
and the shout, and the laugh, Avere swalloAved up 
m the deep sound of the big bass-drum, and even 
that died away into a distant rvmible. We passed 



BUCKTHORNE. 221 

along the pleasant, sequestered walk of Nightin- 
gale liane. Foi- a pair of lovers, what scene could 
be more propitious ? — But such a pair of lovers ! 
Not a nightingale sang to soothe us : the vei'y 
gypsies, who were encamped there during the fair, 
made no offer to tell the fortunes of such an ill- 
omened couple, wliose fortunes, I suppose, they 
thought too legibly written to need an inter- 
preter; and the gypsy children crawled into their 
cabins, and peeped out fearfully at us as we went 
by. For a moment I paused, and was almost 
tempted to turn gypsy, but the poetical feehng, 
for the present, was fully satisfied, and 1 passed 
on. Thus we travelled and travelled, like a 
prince and princess in a nursery tale, until we 
had traversed a part of Hampstead Heath, and 
arrived in the vicinity of Jack Straw's Castle. 
Here, wearied and dispirited, we seated ourselves 
on the margin of the hill, hard by the very mile- 
stone where Whittington of yore heard the Bow- 
bells ring out the presage of his future greatness. 
Alas ! no bell rung an invitation to us, as we 
looked disconsolately upon the distant city. Old 
London seemed to wrap itself unsociably in its 
mantle of brown smoke, and to offer no encour- 
agement to such a couple of tatterdemalions. 

For once, at least, the usual course of the pan- 
tomime was reversed. Harlequin was jilted, and 
the lover had carried off Columbine in good ear- 
nest. But what was I to do with her ? I could 
not take her in my hand, return - to my father, 
throw myself on my knees, and crave his forgive- 
ness and blessing, according to dramatic usage. 



222 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

The very dogs would have chased such a drag* 
gled-tailed beauty from the grounds. 

In the midst of my doleful dumps, some one 
tapped me on the shoulder, and, looking up, I 
saw a couple of rough sturdy fellows standing 
behind me. Not knowing what to expect, I 
jumped on my legs, and was preparing again to 
make battle, but was tripped up and secured in 
a twinklins". 

" Come, come, young master," said one of the 
fellows in a gruff but good-humored tone, " don't 
let 's have any of your tantrums ; one would have 
thought you had had swing enough for this bout. 
Come ; it 's high time to leave off harlequinading, 
and go home to your father." 

In fact, I had fallen into the hands of remorse- 
less men. The cruel Sacharissa had proclaimed 
who I was, and that a reward had been offered 
throughout the country for any tidings of me ; 
and they had seen a description of me which had 
been inserted in the public papers. Those har- 
pies, therefore, for the mere sake of filthy lucre, 
were resolved to deliver me over into the hands 
of my father, and the clutches of my pedagogue. 

In vain I swore I would not leave my faithful 
and afflicted Columbine. In vain I tore myself 
from their grasp, and flew to her, and vowed to 
protect her ; and wiped the tears from her cheek, 
and with them a whole blush that might have 
vied with the carnation for brilliancy. My per- 
secutors were inflexible ; they even seemed to 
exult in our distress ; and to enjoy this theatrical 
display of dirt, and finery, and tribulation. I 



BUCK THORNE. ^23 

was carried off in despair, leaving ray Colum- 
bine destitute in the wide world ; but many a 
look of agony did I cast back at her as she stood 
gazing piteously after me from the brink of 
Hampstead Hill ; so forlorn, so fine, so ragged, 
so bedraggled, yet so beautiful. 

Thus ended my first peep int( the world. 1 
returned home, rich in good-for-nothing expe- 
rience, and dreadiniT the reward I was to receive 
for my improvement. My reception, however, 
was quite different from what I had expected. 
My father had a spice of the devil in him, and 
did not seem to like me the worse for my freak, 
which he termed " sowing my wild oats." He 
happened to have some of his sporting friends 
to dine the very day of my return ; they made 
me tell some of my adventures, and laughed 
heartily at them. 

One old fellow, with an outrageously red nose, 
took to me hugely. I heard him whisper to my 
father that I was a lad of mettle, and might 
make something clever ; to which my father 
replied, that I had good points, but was an ill- 
broken whelp, and required a great deal of the 
whip. Perhaps this very conversation raised me 
a little in his esteem, for I found the red-nosed 
old gentleman was a veteran fox-hunter of the 
neighborhood, for whose opinion my father had 
vast deference. Indeed, I believe he Avould have 
pardDned anything in me more readily than 
poetry, which he called a cursed, sneaking, puling, 
housekeeping employment, the bane of all fine 
manhood. He swore it was unworthy of a 



224 TALES OF A TEA VELLEH. 

youngster of my expectations, who was one day 
to have so great an estate, and would be able to 
keep horses and hounds, and hire poets to write 
Bongs for him into the bargain. 

T had now satisfied, for a time, my roving pro- 
pensity. I had exhausted the poetical feeling. 
1 had been heartily buffeted out of my love for 
theatrical display. I felt humiliated by my ex- 
posure, and willing to hide ray head anywhere for 
a season, so that I might be out of the way of the 
ridicule of the world; for I found folks not alto- 
gether so indulgent abroad as they were at my 
father's table. I could not stay at home ; the 
house was intolerably doleful now that my mother 
was no longer there to cherish me. Everything 
around spoke mournfully of her. The little flower- 
garden in which she delighted, was all in disor- 
der and overrun with weeds. I attempted for a 
day or two to arrange it, but my heart grew 
heavier and heavier as I labored. Every little 
broken-down flower, that I had seen her rear so 
tenderly, seemed to plead in mute eloquence to 
my feelings. There was a favorite honeysuckle 
which I had seen her often training with assidu- 
ity, and had heard her say it would be the pride 
of her garden. I found it grovelling along the 
ground, tangled and wild, and twining round 
every worthless weed ; and it struck me as an 
emblem of myself, a mere scatterling, running to 
waste and uselessness. I could work no longer 
in the garden. 

My father sent me to pay a visit to my uncle, 
by way of keeping the old gentleman in mind of 



BUCRTHORNE. 225 

me. I was received, as usual, without any ex- 
preasion of discontent, which we always consid- 
ered equivalent to a hearty welcome. Whether 
lie had ever heard of my strolling freak or not, 
I could not discover, he and his man were both 
so taciturn. I spent a day or two roaming 
about the dreary mansion and neglected park, 
and felt at one time, I believe, a touch of poetry, 
for I was tempted to drown myself in a fish- 
pond ; I rebuked the evil spirit, however, and it 
left me. I found the same red-headed boy run- 
ning wild about the park, but I felt in no humor 
to hunt him at present. On the contrary, I tried 
to coax him to me, and to make friends with 
him ; but the young savage was untamable. 

When I returned from my uncle's, I remained 
at home for some time, for my father was dis- 
posed, he said, to make a man of me. He took 
me out hunting with him, and I became a great 
favorite of the red-nosed squire, because I rode 
at everything, never refused the boldest leap, and 
was always sure to be in at the death. I used 
often, however, to offend my father at hunting- 
dinners, by taking the wrong side in politics. 
My father was amazingly ignorant, so ignorant, 
in fact, as not to know that he knew nothing. 
He was stanch, however, to church and king, and 
full of old-fashioned prejudices. Now I had 
picked up a little knowledge in politics and relig- 
ion during my rambles with the strollers, and 
found myself capable of setting him right as to 
many of his antiquated notions. I felt it my 

duty to do so ; we were apt, therefore, to diffei 
15 



226 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

occasionally in the political discussions wliicli 
sometimes arose at those hunting-dinners. 

I was at that age when a man knows least, arid 
is most vain of his knowledge, and when he is 
extremely tenacious in defending his opinion upon 
subjects about which he knows nothing. My 
father was a hard man for any one to argue witli, 
for he never knew when he was refuted. 1 
sometimes posed him a little, but then he had one 
argument that always settled the question ; he 
would threaten to knock me down. I believe ho 
at last grew tired of me, because I both out- 
talked and outrode him. The red-nosed squire, 
too, got out of conceit with me, because, in the 
heat of the chase, I rode over him one day as he 
and his horse lay sprawling in the dirt : so I 
found myself getting into disgrace with all the 
world, and would have got heartily out of humor 
with myself, had I not been kept in tolerable 
self-conceit by the parson's three daughters. 

They were the same who had admired my po- 
etry on a former occasion, when it had brought 
me into disgrace at school ; and I had ever since 
retained an exalted idea of their judgment. In- 
deed, they were young ladies not merely of taste 
but of science. Their education had been super- 
intended by their mother, who was a blue-stocking. 
They knew enough of botany to tell the techni- 
cal names of all the floAvers in the garden, and 
all their secret concerns into the bargain. They 
knew music, too, not mere commonplace music, but 
Kossini and Mozart, and they sang Moore's Irish 
Melodies to perfection. They had pretty littlo 



BUCKTHORNE. 227 

work- tables, covered with all kinds of objects of 
taste : specimens of lava, and painted eggs, and 
work-boxes, painted and varnished by themselves. 
They excelled in knotting and netting, and painted 
in water-colors ; and made feather fans, and fire- 
screens, and worked in silks and worsteds ; and 
talked French and Italian, and knew Shakspeare 
by heart. They even knew something of geology 
and mineralogy ; and went about the neighbor- 
hood knocking stones to pieces, to the great ad- 
miration and perplexity of tlie country folk. 

I am a little too minute, perhaps, in detailing 
their accomplishments, but I wish to let you see 
that these were not commonplace young ladies, 
but had pretensions quite above the ordinary run. 
It was some consolation to me, therefore, to find 
favor in such eyes. Indeed, they had always 
marked me out for a genius, and considered my 
late vagrant freak as fresh proof of the fact. 
They observed that Shakspeare himself had been 
a mere pickle in his youth ; that he had stolen a 
deer, as every one knew, and kept loose company, 
and consorted with actors : so I comforted myself 
marvellously with the idea of having so decided 
a Shakspearian trait in my character. 

The youngest of the three, however, was my 
grand consolation. She was a pale, sentimental 
girl, with long " hyacinthine " ringlets hanging 
about her face. She wrote poetry herself, and 
we kept up a poetical correspondence. She had 
a taste for the drama, too, and I taught her how 
to act several of the scenes in '^' Romeo and Juliet." 
I used to rehearse the garden-scene under her 



228 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

lattice, whicli looked out from among woodbine 
and honeysuckles into the church-yard. I began 
to think her amazingly pretty as well as clever 
and I believe I should have finished by falling in 
love with her, had not her father discovered our 
theatrical studies. He was a studious, abstracted 
man, generally too much absorbed in his leai-ned 
and religious labors to notice the little foibles of 
his daughters, and perhaps blinded by a father's 
fondness ; but he unexpectedly put his head out 
of his study-window one day m the midst of a 
scene, and put a stop to our rehearsals. He had 
a vast deal of that prosaic good sense which I 
forever found a stumbling-block in my poetical 
path. My rambling freak had not struck the 
good man as poetically as it had his daughters. 
He drew his comparison from a different manual. 
He looked upon me as a prodigal son, and 
doubted whether I should ever arrive at the 
happy catastrophe of the fatted calf. 

I. fancy some intimation was given to my 
father of this new breaking out of my poetical 
temperament, for he suddenly intimated that it 
was high time I should prepare for the univer- 
sity. I dreaded a return to the school whence I 
had eloped : the ridicule of my fellow-scholars, 
and the glance from the squire's pew, would have 
been worse than death to me. I was fortunately 
spared the humiliation. My father sent me to 
board with a country clergyman, who had three 
or four boys under his care. I went to him joy- 
fully, for I had often heard my mother mention 
him with esteem. In fact he had been an ad- 



3UCK THORNE. 229 

mirer of hers in his younger days, though too hum- 
ble in fortune and modest in pretensions to aspire 
to her hand ; but he had ever retained a tender 
regard for her. He was a good man ; a worthy 
specimen of that vahiable body of our countiy 
clergy who silently and unostentatiously do a vast 
deal of good ; who are, as it were, woven into 
the whole system of rural life, and operate upon 
it with tlie steady yet unobtrusive influence of 
temperate piety and learned good sense. He 
lived in a small village not far from Warwick, 
one of those little communities where the scanty 
flock is, in a manner, folded into the bos<jm of the 
pastor. The venerable church, in its grass-grown 
cemetery, was one of those rural temples scat- 
tered about our country as if to sanctifj- the land. 
I have the worthy pastor before my mind's eye 
at this moment, with his mild benevolent counte- 
nance, rendered still more venerable by his silver 
hairs. 1 have him before me, as I saw him on 
my arrival, seated in the embowered porch of his 
small parsonage, with a flower-garden before it, 
and his pupils gathered round him like his chil- 
dren. I shall never forget his reception of me ; 
for 1 believe he thought of my poor mother at 
the time, and his heart yearned towards her child. 
His eye glistened when he received me at the 
door, and he took me into his arms as the adopted 
child of his affections. Never had I been so for- 
tunately placed. He was one of those excellent 
members of our clnirch, who lielp out their nar- 
row salaries by instructing a few gentlemen's 
3ons. I am convinced those little seminaries are 



230 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

among the best nurseries of talent and virtue iu 
the land. Both heart and mind are cultivated 
and improved. The preceptor is the companion 
and the friend of his pupils. His sacred charac- 
ter gives him dignity in their eyes, and his sol- 
emn functions produce that elevation of mind a?\d 
sobriety of conduct necessary to those wlio are tO 
t-each youth to think and act worthily. 

I speak from my own random observation aid 
experience ; but I think I speak correctly. At 
any rate, I can trace much of what is good in 
my own heterogeneous compound to the short 
time I was under the instruction of that good 
man. He entered into the cares and occupations 
and amusements of his pupils ; and won his way 
into our confidence, and studied our hearts and 
minds more intently than we did our books. 

He soon sounded the depth of my character. 
I had become, as I have already hinted, a little 
liberal in my notions, and apt to philosophize on 
both politics and religion ; having seen something 
of men and things, and learnt, from my fellow- 
philosophers, the strollers, to despise all vulgar 
prejudices. He did not attempt to cast down my 
vainglory, nor to question my right view of 
things ; he merely instilled into my mind a little 
information on these topics ; though in a quiet 
unobtrusive way, that never ruffled a feather of 
my self-conceit. I was astonished to find what 
a chan2;e a little knowledge makes in one's 
mode of viewing matters ; and liow different a 
subject is when one thinks, or when one only 
talks about it. I conceived a vast deference for 



BUCKTHORNE. 231 

my teacher, and was ambitious of his good opin- 
ion. Li my zeal to make a favorable impression, 
I presented him with a whole ream of my poetry. 
He read it attentively, smiled, and pressed my 
hand when he returned it to me, but said noth- 
ing. The next day he set me at mathematics. 

Somehow or other the process of teaching 
eeemed robbed by him of all its austerity. I was 
not conscious that he thwarted an inclination or 
opposed a wish ; but I felt that, for the time, my 
inclinations were entirely changed. I became 
fond of study, and zealous to improve myself. 
I made tolerable advances in studies which I had 
before considered as unattainable, and 1 wondered 
at my own proficiency. I thought, too, I aston- 
ished my preceptor ; for I often caught his eyes 
fixed upon me with a peculiar expression. I 
suspect, since, that he was pensively tracing in 
my countenance the early lineaments of my 
mother. 

Education was not apportioned by him into 
tasks, and enjoined as a labor, to be abandoned 
with joy the moment the hour of study was ex- 
pired. We had, it is true, our allotted hours of 
occupation, to give us habits of method, and of 
the distribution of time ; but they were made 
pleasant to us, and our feelings were enlisted in 
the cause. When they v^^^ere over, education still 
went on. It pervaded all our relaxations and 
amusements. There was a steady march of im 
provcment. Much of his instruction was given 
during pleasant rambles, or when seated on the 
margin of the Avon ; and information received 



232 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

m that way, often makes a deeper impression 
than when acquired by poring over books. I 
have many of the pure and eloquent precepts that 
flowed from his lips associated in my mind with 
lovely scenes in nature, which make the recollec- 
tion of them indescribably delightful. 

I do not pretend to say that any miracle was 
effected with me. After all said and done, I was 
but a weak disciple. My poetical temperameni 
still wrought within me and wrestled hard with 
wisdom, and, I fear, maintained the mastery. ] 
found mathematics an intolerable task in fine 
weather. I would be prone to forget my prob- 
lems, to watch the birds hopping about the win- 
dows, or the bees hamming about the honeysuc- 
kles ; and whenever I could steal away, I would 
wander about the grassy borders of the Avon, 
and excuse this truant propensity to myself with 
the idea that I was treading classic ground, over 
which Shakspeare had wandered. What luxuri- 
ous idleness have I indulged, as I lay under the 
trees and watched the silver waves rippling 
through the arches of the broken bridge, and 
laving the rocky bases of old Warwick Castle , 
and how often have I thought of sweet Shaks- 
peare, and in my boyish enthusiasm have kissed 
the VN^aves which had washed his native village. 

My good preceptor would often accompany mo 
in these desultory rambles. He sought to get 
hold of this vaarrant mood of mind and turn \\ 
to some account. He endeavored to teach me to 
mingle thought with mere sensation ; to momlize 
on the scenes around ; and to make the beauticis 



BUCKTHORNE. 233 

Cif nature administer to the understanding of the 
heart. He endeavored to direct my imagination 
to high and noble objects, and to fill it with lofty 
images. In a word, he did all he could to make 
the best of a poetical temperament, and to coun- 
teract the mischief which had been done to me 
by my great expectations. 

Had I been earlier put under the care of the 
good pastor, or remained with him a longer time, 
I really believe he would have made something 
of me. He had already brought a great deal of 
what had been flogged into me into tolerable or- 
der, and had weeded out much of the unprofitable 
wisdom which had sprung up in my vagabondiz- 
ing. 1 already began to find that with all my 
genius a little study would be no disadvantage 
to me ; and, in spite of my vagrant freaks, I be- 
gan to doubt ray being a second Shakspeare. 

Just as I was making these precious discov- 
eries, the good parson died. It was a melancholy 
day throughout the neighborhood. He had his 
little flock of scholars, his children, as he used to 
call us, gathered round himin his dying moments ; 
and he gave us the parting advice of a father, 
now that he had to leave us, and we were to be 
separated from each other, and scattered about 
in the world. He took me by the hand, and 
talked with me earnestly and affectionately, and 
called to my mind my mother, and used her 
name to enforce his dying exhortations ; for I 
"ather think he considered me the most erring 
and heedless of liis flock. He held my hand in 
his, long after he had d)ne speaking, and kept 



234 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

his eye fixed on me tenderly and almost piie- 
ously : liis lips moved as if he were silently pray- 
ing for me ; and he died away, still holding me 
by the hand. 

There was not a dry eye in the church when 
the funeral service was read from the pulpit from 
which he had so often preached. Wlien the body 
was committed to the earth, our little band gath- 
ered round it, and watched the coffin as it was 
lowered into the grave. The parishioners looked 
at us with sympathy ; for we were mourners not 
merely in dress but in heart. We lingered about 
the grave, and clung to one another for a time, 
weeping and speechless, and then parted, like a 
band of brothers parting from the paternal 
hearth, never to assemble there again. 

How had the gentle spirit of that good man 
sweetened our natures, and linked our young 
hearts together by the kindest ties ! I have al- 
ways had a throb of pleasure at meeting Avith an 
old schoolmate, even though one of my truant 
associates ; but whenever, in the coiu'se of my 
life, I have encountered one of that little flock 
with which I was folded on the banks of the 
Avon, it has been with a gush of affection, and a 
glow of virtue, that for the moment have made 
me a better man. 

I was now sent to Oxford, and was wonder- 
fully impressed on first entering it as a student. 
Learning here puts on all its majesty. It is 
lodged in palaces ; it is sanctified by the sacred 
ceremonies of religion ; it has a pomp and cir- 
cumstance which powerfully affect iho. imagina- 



BUCKTHORNE. 235 

tion. Such, at least, it had in my eyes, thought- 
less as [ was. My previous studies with the 
worthy pastor had prepared nie to regard it Avith 
deference and awe. He had been educated liere, 
and always spoke of the University with filial 
fondness and classic veneration. When I beheld 
the clustering spires and pinnacles of this most 
august of cities rising from the plain, I hailed 
them in my enthusiasm as the points of a diadem, 
which the nation had placed upon the brows of 
science. 

For a time old Oxford was full of enjoyment 
for me. There was a charm about its monastic 
buildings ; its great Gothic quadrangles ; its 
solenm halls, and shadowy cloisters. I delighted, 
in the evenings, to get in places surrounded by 
the colleiies, where all modern buildinofs were 
screened from the sight ; and to see the Profess- 
ors and students sweeping along in the dusk in 
their antiquated caps and gowns. I seemed for 
a time to be transported among the people and 
edifices of the old times. I was a frequent at- 
tendant, also, of the evening service in the New 
College Hall ; to hear the fine organ, and the 
choir swelling an anthem in that solemn building, 
where painting, music, and ai'chitecture are in 
such admirable unison. 

A favorite haunt, too, was the beautiful walk 
bordered by lofty elms along the river, behind the 
gray walls of Magdalen College, which goes by 
\]ie name of Addison's Walk, from being his fa- 
vorite resort when an Oxford student. I became 
'jIso a lounger in the Bodleian library, and a 



236 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

great dipper into books, though I cannot say that 
I studied them ; in fact, being no longer under 
direction or control, I was gradually relapsing 
into mere indulgence of the fancy. Still this 
would have been pleasant and harmless enough, 
and I might have awakened from mere literary 
dreamino; to somethino^ better. The chances 
were in my favor, for the riotous times of the 
University were past. The days of hard drink- 
ing were at an end. The old feuds of " Town 
and Gown," like the civil wars of the White and 
Red Rose, had died away ; and student and citi- 
zen slept in peace and whole skins, without risk 
of being summoned in the night to bloody brawl. 
It had become tlie fashion to study at the Uni- 
versity, and the odds were always in favor of 
my following the fashion. Unluckily, however, 
I fell in company with a special knot of young 
fellows, of lively parts and ready wit, who had 
lived occasionally upon town, and become ini- 
tiated into the Fancy. They voted study to be 
the toil of dull minds, by which they slowly crept 
up the hill, while genius arrived at it at a bound. 
I felt ashamed to play the owl among such gay 
birds ; so I threw by my books, and became a 
man of spirit. 

As my father made me a tolerable allowance, 
notwithstanding the narrowness of his income, 
having an eye always to my great expectations, 
I was enabled to appear to advantage among my 
companions. I cultivated all kinds of sport and 
exercises. I was one of the most expert oars- 
TOiej^ that rowed "»n the Isis. I boxed, fenced. 



BUCKTEORNE. 237 

angled, shot, and hunted, and my rooms m college 
were always decorated with whips of all kinds, 
spurs, fowling-pieces, fishing-rods, foils, and boxing- 
gloves. A pair of leather breeches would seem 
to be throwing one leg out of the half-open 
drawers, and empty bottles lumbered the bottom 
of every closet. 

My father came to see me at college when I 
was in the height of my career. He asked me 
how I came on with my studies, and Avhat kind 
of hunting there was in the neighborhood. He 
examined my various sporting apparatus with a 
curious eye ; wanted to know if any of the Pro- 
fessors were fox-hunters, and whether they were 
generally good shots, for he suspected their study- 
ing so much must be hurtful to the sight. We 
had a day's shooting together : I delighted him 
with my skill, and astonished him by my learned 
disquisitions on horse-flesh, and on Manton's 
guns ; so, upon the whole, he departed highly 
satisfied with my improvement at college. 

I do not know how it is, but I cannot be idle 
long without getting in love. I had not been a 
very long time a man of spirit, therefore, before 
I became deeply enamored of a shopkeeper's 
daughter in the High-Street, who, in fact, was the 
admiration of many of the students. I wrote 
several sonnets in praise of her, and spent half 
of my pocket-money at the shop, in buying arti- 
cles which I did not want, that I might have an 
opportunity of speaking to her. Her father, a 
severe-looking old gentleman, with bright silver 
buckles, and a crisp-curled wig, kept a strict 



238 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

guard on her, as the fathers generally do iipoiji 
their daughters in Oxford ; and well they may. 
I tried to get into his good graces, and to be so- 
ciable with him, but all in vain. I said several 
good things in his shop, but he never laughed : 
he had no relish for wit and humor. He was 
one of those dry old gentlemen who keep young- 
sters at bay. He had already brought up two 
or three daughters, and was experienced in the 
ways of students. He was as knowing and 
wary as a gray old badger that has often been 
hunted. To see him on Sunday, so stiff and 
starched in his demeanor, so precise in his dress, 
with his daughter under his arm, was enough to 
deter all graceless youngsters from approaching. 
I managed, however, in spite of his vigilance, 
to have several conversations with the daughter, 
as I cheapened articles in the shop. I made 
terrible long bargains, and examined the ai'ticles 
over and over before I purchased. In the mean 
time, I would convey a sonnet or an acrostic 
under cover of a piece of cambric, or slipped into 
a pair of stockings ; I would whisper soft nonsense 
into her ear as I haggled about the price ; and 
would squeeze her hand tenderly as I received 
my half-pence of change in a bit of whity-brown 
paper. Let this serve as a hint to all haberdash- 
ers who have pretty daughters for shop-girls, and 
young students for customers. I do not know 
whether my words and looks were very eloquent, 
but my poetry was irresistible ; for, to tell the 
truth, the girl had some literary taste, and was sel- 
dom without a book from the circulating library 



BUCKTHORNE. 239 

By the divine power of poetry, therefore, 
which is so potent with the lovely sex, did I sub- 
due the heart of this fair little haberdasher. We 
carried on a sentimental correspondence for a 
time across the counter, and I supplied her with 
rhyme by the stocking-full. At length I prevailed 
on her to a-rant an assimation. But how was 
this to be effected? Her father kept her always 
under his eye ; she never walked out alone ; and 
the house was locked up the moment that the 
shop was shut. All these difficulties served but 
to give zest to the adventure. I proposed that 
the assignation should be in her own chamber, 
into which I would climb at night. The plan 
was irresistible. — A cruel father, a secret lover, 
and a clandestine meeting ! All the little girl's 
studies from the circulating library seemed about 
to be reahzed. 

But what had I in view in making this assig- 
nation ? Indeed, I know not. I had no evil in- 
tentions, nor can I say that I had any good ones. 
I liked the girl, and wanted to have an oppor- 
tunity of seeing more of her ; and the assignation 
was made, as I have done many things else, 
leedlessly and without forethought. I asked my- 
self a few questions of the kind, after all my 
arrangements were made, but the answers were 
very imsatisfactory. " Am I to ruin this poor 
thoughtless girl ? " said I to myself " No ! " 
was the prompt and indignant answer. " Am I 
to run away with her ? " — " whither, and to 
what purpose ? " — " Well, then, am I to marrj 
her ? " — " Poh ! a man of my expectations marry 



240 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

a shopkeeper's daughter ! " " Wliat then am I 
to do with her ? " " Hum — why — let me get 
into the chamber first, and then consider " — 
and so the self-examination ended. 

Well, sir, " come what come might," I stole 
under cover of the darkness to the dwelling of 
my dulcinea. All was quiet. At the concerted 
signal her window was gently opened. It was 
just above the projecting bow- window of her 
father's shop, which assisted me in mounting. 
The house was low, and I was enabled to scale 
the fortress with tolerable ease. I clambered 
with a beating heart ; I reached the casement ; I 
hoisted my body half into the chamber ; and was 
welcomed, not by the embraces of my expecting 
fair one, but by the grasp of the crabbed-looking 
old father in the crisp-curled wig. 

I extricated myself from his clutches, and en- 
deavored to make my retreat ; but I was con- 
founded by his cries of thieves ! and robbers ! 
I was bothered too by his Sunday cane, which 
was amazingly busy about my head as I descend- 
ed, and against which my hat was but a poor 
protection. Never before had I an idea of the 
activity of an old man's arm, and the hardness of 
the knob of an ivory-headed cane. In my hurry 
and confusion I missed my footing, and fell 
sprawling on the pavement. I was immediately 
surrounded by myrmidons, who, I doubt not, 
were on the watch for me. Indeed, I was in no 
situation to escape, for I had sprained my ankle 
in the fall, and could not stand. I was seized as 
a house-breaker ; and to exonerate myself of a 



liVCKTHORNE. 241 

greater crime, I had to accuse myself of a less. 
1 made known Avho I was, and why I came there. 
Alas ! the varlets knew it already, and were 
only amusing themselves at my expense. My 
perfidious Muse had been playing me one of her 
slippery tricks. The old curmudgeon of a father 
liad found my sonnets and acrostics hid away in 
lioles and corners of his shop ; he had no taste 
for poetry like his daughter, and had instituted 
a rigorous thouofh silent observation. He had 
moused upon our letters, detected our plans, and 
prepared everything for my reception. Thus 
was I ever doomed to be led into scrapes by the 
Muse. Let no man henceforth carry on a secret 
amour in poetry ! 

The old man's ire was in some measure ap- 
peased by the pommelling of my head and the 
anguish of my sprain ; so he did not put me to 
death on the spot. He was even humane enough 
to furnish a shutter, on which I was carried back 
to college like a wounded warrior. The porter 
was roused to admit me. The college gate was 
thrown open for my entry. The affair was 
blazed about the next morning, and became the 
joke of the college from the buttery to the hall. 

I had leisure to repent during several weeks' 
confinement by my sprain, which I passed in 
translatino- Boethius's " Consolations of Philoso- 
phy," I received a most tender and ill-spelled let- 
ter from my mistress, who had been sent to a re- 
lation in Coventry. She protested her innocence 
of my misfortune, and vowed to be true to me 
' till deth." I took no notice of the letter, for I 
IG 



212 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

was cured for the present, both of love and poe- 
try. Women, however, are more constant in 
their attachments than men, whatever philoso- 
phers may say to the contrary. I am assured 
that she actually remained faithful to her vow 
for several months ; but she had to deal with a 
cruel father, whose heart was as hard as the 
knob of his cane. He was not to be touched by 
tears nor poetry, but absolutely compelled her to 
marry a reputable young tradesman, who made 
her a happy woman in spite of herself and of 
all the rules of romance, and, Avhat is more, the 
mother of several children. They are at this 
very day a thriving couple, and keep a snug cor- 
ner-shop, just opposite the figure of Peeping 
Tom, at Coventry. 

I will not fatigue you by any more details of 
my studies at Oxford ; though they were not al- 
ways as severe as these, nor did I always pay as 
dear for my lessons. To be brief, then, I lived on 
in my usual miscellaneous manner, gradually get- 
ting knowledge of good and evil, until I had at- 
tained my twenty-first year. I had scarcely come 
of age when I heard of the sudden death of my 
father. The shock was severe, for though he 
had never treated me with much kindness, still 
he was my father, and at his death I felt alone in 
the world. 

I returned home, and found myself the solitary 
master of the paternal mansion. ' A crowd of 
gloomy feelings came tlironging upon me. It 
was a place that always sobered me, and brought 
me to reflection ; now especially ; it looked so 



BUCKTHORNE. 2i3 

ieserted and melancholy. I entered the little 
breakfasting-room. Tliere were my father's whip 
and spurs, hanging by the iireplace ; the " Stud- 
Book," " Sporting Magazine," and " Racing Cal- 
endar," his only reading. His favorite spaniel lay 
on the hearth-rug. The poor animal, who had 
never before noticed me, now came fondling about 
me, licked my hand, then looked round the room, 
whined, wagged his tail slightly, and gazed wist- 
fully in my face. I felt the full force of the ap- 
peal. " Poor Dash," said I, " we are both alone 
in the world, with nobody to care for us, and will 
take care of one another." — The dog never quit- 
ted me afterwards. 

I could not go into my mother's room — my 
heart swelled wJien I passed within sight of the 
door. Her portrait hung in the parlor, just over 
the place where she used to sit. As I cast my 
eyes on it, I thought that it looked at me with 
tenderness, and I burst into tears. I v\^as a care- 
less dog, it is true, hardened a little, perhaps, by 
living in public schools, and buffeting about among 
strangers, who cared nothing for me ; but • the 
recollection of a mother's tenderness was over- 
coming. 

I WHS not of an age or a temperament to be 
long depressed. There was a reaction in my 
system, that always brought me up again after 
eveiy pi'cssure ; and, indeed, my spirits were 
always most buoyant after a tempoi'ary prostra- 
tion. I settled the concerns of the estate as soon 
as possible ; realized my property, which was 
Qot very considerable, but which appeared a vast 



244. TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

deal to iiie, having a poetical eye that magnified 
everything ; and finding myself, at the end of a 
few months, free of all further business or re- 
straint, 1 determined to go to London and enjoy 
myself Why shoidd I not ? — I was young, ani- 
mated, joyous ; had plenty of funds for present 
pleasures, and my uncle's estate in the perspec- 
tive. Let those mope at college, and pore over 
books, thought I, who have their way to make in 
the world ; it would be ridiculous drudgery in 
a youth of my expectations. Away to London, 
therefore, I rattled in a tandem, determined to 
take the town gayly. I passed through several 
of the villages where I had played the Jack Pud- 
ding a few years before ; and T visited the scenes 
of many of my adventures and follies merely from 
that feeling of melancholy pleasure wliich we have 
in stepping again the footprints of foregone ex- 
istence, even when they have passed among weeds 
and briers. I made a circuit in the latter part 
of my journey, so as to take in West End and 
Hampstead, tlie scenes of my last dramatic ex- 
ploit, and of the battle royal of the booth. As I 
drove along the ridge of Hampstead Hill, by Jack 
Straw's Castle, I paused at the spot where Col- 
umbine and I had sat down so disconsolately in 
our ragged finery, and had looked dubiously on 
London. 1 almost expected to see her again, 
standing on the hill's brink, " like Niobe, all 
tears ; " — mournful as Babylon in ruins ! 

" Poor Columbine ! " said I, with a heavy sigh, 
•' thou wert a gallant, generous girl — a true 
woman ; — faithful to the distressed, and ready 



BUCK THORNE. 245 

to sacrifice thyself in the cause of worthless 
man ! *' 

I tried to whistle off the recollection of her, 
for there was always something of self-reproach 
with it. I drove gayly along the road, enjoying 
the stare of hostlers and stable-boys, as I man- 
aged my horses knowingly down the steep street 
of Hampstead ; when, just at the skirts of the 
village, one of the traces of my leader came 
loose. I pulled up, and as the animal was res- 
tive, and my servant a bungler, I called for as- 
sistance to the robustious master of a snug ale- 
house, who stood at his door with a tankard in 
his hand. He came readily to assist me, fol- 
lowed by his wife, with her bosom half open, a 
child in her arms, and two more at her heels. 1 
stared for a moment, as if doubting my eyes. 1 
could not be mistaken : in the fat, beer-blown 
landlord of the ale-house I recollected ray old 
rival Harlequin, and in his slattern spouse the 
once trim and dimpling Columbine. 

The change of my looks from youth to man- 
hood, and the change in my circumstances, pre- 
vented them from recognizing me. They could 
not suspect in the dashing young buck, fashion- 
ably dressed and driving his own equipage, the 
painted beau, with old peaked hat, and long, 
flimsy, sky-blue coat. My heart yearned with 
kindness towards Columbine, and I was glad to 
<6ee her establishment a thriving one. As soon 
as the harness was adjusted, I tossed a small 
purse of gold into her ample bosom ; and then, 
pretending to give my horses a hearty cut of the 



246 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

whip, I made the lash curl with a whistling 
about the sleek sides of ancient Harlequin. The 
horses dashed off like lio-htnino, and I was whirled 
out of sight before either of the parties could get 
over their surprise at my liberal donations. I 
have always considered this as one of the great- 
est proofs of my poetical genius ; it was distrib- 
uting poetical justice in perfection. 

I now entered London en cavalier^ and became 
a blood upon town. I took fashionable lodgings, 
in the West End ; employed the first tailor ; fre- 
quented the regular lounges ; gambled a little ; 
lost my money good-humoredly ; and gained a 
number of fashionable, good-for-nothing acquaint- 
ances. I gained some reputation also for a man 
of science, having become an expert boxer in the 
course of my studies at Oxford. I was distin- 
guished, therefore, among the gentlemen of the 
Fancy ; became hand and glove with certain box- 
ing noblemen, and was the admiration of the Fives 
Court. A gentleman's science, however, is apt 
to get him into bad scrapes ; he is too prone to 
play the knight-errant, and to pick up quarrels 
which less scientifical gentlemen would quietly 
avoid. I undertook one day to punish the inso- 
lence of a porter. He was a Hercules of a fel- 
low, but then I was so secure in my science ! I 
gained the victory of course. The porter pock- 
eted his humiliation, bound up his broken head, 
and went about his business as unconcernedly as 
though nothing had happened ; while I went to 
bed with my victory, and did not dare to show 
my battered face for a fortnight : by which I dis- 



BVCKTHORNE. 247 

covered that a gentleman may have the worst of 
the battle even when victorious. 

I am naturally a philosopher, and no one can 
moralize better after a misfortune has taken place ; 
so I lay on my bed and moralized on this sorry 
ambition, which levels the gentleman with the 
clown. I know it is the opinion of many sages, 
who have thought deeply on these matters, that 
the noble science of boxing keeps up the bull- 
dog courage of the nation ; and far be it from me 
to decry the advantage of becoming a nation of 
bull-dogs ; but I now saw clearly that it was cal- 
culated to keep up the breed of English ruffians. 
" What is the Fives Court," said I to myself, as 
I turned uncomfortably in bed, " but a college of 
scoundrelism,. where every bully-ruffian in the land 
may gain a fellowship ? What is the slang lan- 
guage of the Fancy but a jargon by which fools 
and knaves commune and understand each other, 
and enjoy a kind of superiority over the unini- 
tiated ? What is a boxing-match but an arena, 
where the noble and the illustrious are jostled 
into familiarity with the infamous and the vul- 
gar ? What, in fact, is the Fancy itself, but a 
chain of easy communication, extending from the 
peer down to the pickpocket, through the me- 
dium of which a man of rank may find he has 
shaken hands, at three removes, with the mur- 
derer on the gibbet ? — 

" Enough ! " ejaculated I, thoroughly convinced 
through the force of my philosophy, and the pain 
of my bruises, — "I '11 have nothing more to do 
«;vith the Fancy." So when I had recovered from 



248 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

tnj victory, I turned my attention to softer 
themes, and became a devoted admirer of the 
ladies. Had I bad more industry and ambition 
in my nature, I might have worked my way to 
the very height of fashion, as I saw many labo- 
rious gentlemen dohig around me. But it is a 
toilsome, an anxious, and an unhappy life ; there 
are i'ew things so sleepless and miserable as your 
cultivators of fashionable smiles. I was quite 
content with that kind of society which forms the 
frontiers of fashion, and may be easily taken pos- 
session of. I found it a light, easy, productive 
soil. I had but to go about and sow visiting- 
cards, and I reaped a whole harvest of invitations. 
Indeed, my figure and address were by no means 
against me. It was whispered, too, among the 
young ladies, that I was prodigiously clever, and 
wrote poetry ; and the old ladies had ascertained 
that I was a young gentleman of good family, 
handsome fortune, and " great expectations." 

I now was carried away by the hurry of gay 
life, so intoxicating to a young man, and which a 
man of poetical temperament enjoys so highly on 
his first tasting of it ; that rapid variety of sen- 
sations ; that whirl of brilliant objects ; that suc- 
cession of pungent pleasures ! I had no time 
for thought. I only felt. I never attempted to 
write poetry ; my poetry seemed all to go off by 
transpiration. I lived poetry ; it was all a poet- 
ical dream to me. A mere sensualist knows 
nothing of the delights of a splendid metropolis. 
He lives in a round of animal gratifications and 
heartless habits. But to a young man of po«ti- 



BUCKTHORNE. 249 

cal feelings, it is an ideal world, a scene of en- 
chantment and delusion ; his imagination is in 
perpetual excitement, and gives a spiritual zest 
to every pleasure. 

A season of town life, however, somewhat so- 
bered me of my intoxication ; or rather I was 
rendered more serious by one of my old com- 
plaints — I fell in love. It was with a very 
pretty, though a very haughty fair one, who had 
come to London under the care of an old maiden 
aunt to enjoy the pleasures of a winter in town, 
and to get married. There was not a doubt of 
her commanding a choice of lovers ; for she had 
long been the belle of a little cathedral city, and 
one of the poets of the place had absolutely cele- 
brated her beauty in a copy of Latin verses. 
The most extravagant anticipations were formed 
by her friends of the sensation she would pro- 
duce. It was feared by some that she might be 
precipitate in her choice, and take up with some 
inferior title. The aunt was dete^^mined nothins: 
should gain her under a lord. 

Alas ! with all her charms, the young lady 
lacked the one thing needful — she had no money. 
So she waited in vain for duke, marquis, or earl, 
to throw himself at her feet. As the season 
waned, so did the lady's expectations ; when, just 
towards the close, I made my advances. 

I was most favorably received by both the 
young lady and her aunt. It is true, I had no 
title ; but then such great expectations. A 
marked preference was immediately shown me 
over two rivals, the younger son of a needy bar- 



250 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

onet, and a captain of dragoons on half-pay. I did 
not absolutely take the field in form, for I was 
determined not to be precipitate ; but I drove 
my equipage frequently through the street in 
which she lived, and was always sure to see her 
at the window, generally Avith a book in her 
hand. I resumed my knack at rhyming, and sent 
her a long copy of verses ; anonymously, to be 
sure, but she knew my handwriting. Both aunt 
and niece, however, displayed the most delightful 
ignorance on the subject. The young lady showed 
them to me ; wondered who they could be writ- 
ten by ; and declared there was nothing in this 
world she loved so mucli as poetry ; while the 
maiden aunt would put her pinching spectacles 
on her nose, and read them, with blunders in 
sense and sound, excruciating to an author's ears ; 
protesting there was nothing equal to them in the 
whole Elegant Extracts. 

The fashionable season closed without my ad- 
venturing to make a declaration, though I cer- 
tainly had encouragement. I was not perfectly 
sure that I liad effected a lodgment in the young 
lady's heart ; and, to tell the truth, the aunt over- 
did her part, and was a little too extravagant in 
her liking of me. I knew that maiden aunts 
were not to be captivated by the mere personal 
merits of their nieces' admirers ; and I wanted 
to ascertain how much of all this favor I owed 
to driving an equipage, and having great expec- 
tations. 

I had received many hints how charming their 
native place was during the summer months ; 



BUCKTHORNE. 251 

whsii pleasant society they had ; and what beau- 
tiful drives about the neighborhood. They had 
not, therefore, returned home long, before I made 
my appearance in dashing style, driving down 
the principal street. The very next morning I 
was seen at prayers, seated in the same pew with 
the reigning belle. Questions were whispered 
about the aisles, after service, " Who is he ? " 
and " What is he ? " And the replies were as 
usual, " A young gentleman of good family and 
fortune, and great expectations." 

I was mubh struck with the peculiarities of 
this reverend little place. A cathedral, with its 
dependencies and regulations, presents a picture 
of other times, and of a different order of things. 
It is a rich relic of a more poetical age. There 
still linger about it the silence and solemnity of 
the cloistei. In the present instance especially, 
where the cathedral was large, and the town 
small, its influence was the more apparent. The 
solemn pomp of the service, performed twice a 
day, with the grand intonations of the organ, and 
the voices of the choir swelling through the mag- 
nificent pile, diffused, as it were, a perpetual Sab- 
bath over the place. This routine of solemn cer- 
emony continually going on, independent, as it 
were, of the world ; this daily offering of melody 
and praise, ascending like incense from the altar, 
had a powerful effect upon my imagination. 

The aunt introduced me to her coterie, formed 
of families connected with the cathedral, and 
others of moderate fortune, but high respectabil- 
ity, who had nestled themselves under the wings 



252 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

of the cathedral to enjoy good society at moder- 
ate expense. It was a highly aristocratical little 
circle ; scrnpnlous in its intercourse with others^ 
and jealously cautious about admitting anything 
common or unclean. 

It seemed as if the courtesies of the old school 
had taken refuse here. There were continual 
interchanges of civilities, and of small presentb 
of fruits and delicacies, and of complimentary 
crow-quill billets ; for in a quiet, well-bred com- 
munity like this, living entirely at ease, little 
duties, and little amusements, and little civilities, 
filled up the day. I have seen, in the midst of a 
warm day, a corpulent, powdered footman, issuing 
from the iron gateway of a stately mansion, and 
traversing the little place with an air of mighty 
import, bearing a smaU tart on a large silver 
salver. 

Their evening; amusements were sober and 
primitive. They assembled at a moderate hour ; 
the young ladies played music, and the old ladies, 
whist ; and at an early hour they dispersed. 
There was no parade on these social occasions. 
Tw^o or three old sedan chairs were in constant 
activity, though the greater part made their exit 
in clogs and pattens, with a footman or waiting- 
maid carrying a lantern in advance ; and long 
before midnight the clank of pattens and gleani 
of lanterns about the quiet little place told thai 
the evening party had dissolved. 

Still I did not feel myself altogether so much 
at my ease as I had anticipated considering the 
smallness of the place. I found it very different 



BUCKTHORNE. 253 

from otlier country places, and that it W£t9 i\ot so 
easy to make a dash there. Sinner that I was ! 
the very dignity and decorum of the little com- 
nnuiity was rebuking to me. I feared my past 
idleness and folly would rise in judgment against 
me. I stood in awe of the dignitaries of the cathe- 
dral, whom I saw mingling familiarly in society. 
I became nervous on this point. Tlie creak of a 
prebendary's shoes, sounding from one end of a 
quiet street to another, was appalling to me ; and 
the sight of a shovel hat was sufRcient at any 
time to check me in t!ie midst of my boldest po- 
etical soarings. 

And then the good aunt could not be quiet, 
but woidd cry me up for a genius, and extol my 
poetry to every one. So long as she confined 
this to the ladies it did well enough, because they 
were able to feel and appreciate poetry of the 
new romantic school. Nothing would content 
the good lady, however, but she must read my 
verses to a prebendary, who had long been the 
undoubted critic of the place. He was a thin, 
delicate old gentleman, of mild, polished manners, 
steeped to the lips in classic lore, and not easily 
put in a heat by any hot-blooded poetry of the 
day. He listened to my most fervid thoughts 
and fervid words without a glow ; shook his head 
with a smile, and condemned them as not being 
according to Horace, as not being legitimate 
poetry. 

Several old ladies, who had heretofore been 
ny admirers, shook their heads at hearing this : 
:4iey could not think of praising any poetry that 



254 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

was not according to Horace ; and as to anything 
illegitimate, it was not to be countenanced in 
good society. Thanks to my stars, however, I 
had youth and novelty on my side : so the young 
ladies persisted in admiring my poetry in despite 
of Horace and illegitimacy. 

I consoled myself with the good opinion of the 
yoimg ladies, whom I had always found to be the 
best judges of poetry. As to these old scholars, 
said I, they are apt to be chilled by being steeped 
in the cold fountains of the classics. Still I felt 
that I was losing gromid, and that it was neces- 
sary to bring matters to a point. Just at this time 
there was a public ball, attended by the best so- 
ciety of the place, and by the gentry of the neigh- 
borhood : I took great pains with my toilet on 
the occasion, and I had never looked better. I 
had determined that night to make my grand as- 
sault on the heart of the young lady, to battle it 
with all my forces, and the next morning to de- 
mand a surrender in due foi"m. 

I entered the ball-room amidst a buzz and 
flutter, which generally took place among the 
young ladies on my appearance. I was m fine 
spirits ; for, to tell the truth, I had exhilarated 
myself by a cheerful glass of wine on the occa- 
sion. I talked, and rattled, and said a thousand 
silly things, slap-dash, with all the confidence of 
a man sure of his auditors, — and everything 
had its effect. 

In the midst of my triumph I observed a little 
knot gathering together in the upper part of the 
room. By degrees it hicreased. \ tittering 



BUCKTHORNE. 255 

broke out here and there, and glances VN^ere cast 
round at me, and then there would be fresh tit- 
tering. Some of the young ladies would hurry 
away to distant part, of the room, and whisper 
to- their friends. Wherever they went, there 
was still this tittering and glancing at me. I did 
not know what to make of all this. I looked at 
myself from head to foot, and peeped at my back 
in a glass, to see if anything was odd about my 
person ; any awkward exposure, any whimsical 
tag hanging out ; — no — • everything was right 
— I was a perfect picture. I determined that it 
must be some choice saying of mine that was 
bandied about in this knot of merry beauties, and 
I determined to enjoy one of my good things in 
the rebound. I stepped gently, therefore, up the 
room, smiling at every one as I passed, who, I 
must say, all smiled and tittered in return. I 
approached the group, smirking and perking my 
chin, like a man who is full of pleasant feeling, 
and sure of being well received. The cluster of 
little belles opened as I advanced. 

Heavens and earth ! whom should I perceive 
in the midst of them but my early and torment- 
ing flame, the everlasting Sacharissa ! She was 
grown, it is true, into the full beauty of woman- 
hood ; but showed, by the provoking merriment 
of her countenance, that she perfectly recollected 
me, and the ridiculous flagellations of which she 
•had twice been the cause. 

I saw at once the exterminating cloud of ridi- 
cule bursting over me. My crest fell. The 
flara(i of love went suddenly out, or was extiu 



256 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

giiished by overwhelming shame. How I got 
down the room I know not ; I fancied every one 
tittering at me. Just as I reached the door, I 
caught a glance of my mistress and her aunt lis- 
tening to the whispers of Sacharissa, the old lady 
raising her hands and eyes, and the face of the 
young one lighted up, as I imagined, with scorn 
ineffable. I paused to see no more, but made 
two steps from the top of the stairs to the bottom. 
The next morning, before sunrise, I beat a re- 
treat, and did not feel the blushes cool from my 
tingling cheeks, until I had lost sight of the old 
towers of the cathedral. 

I now returned to town thoughtful and crest- 
fallen. My money was nearly spent, for I had 
lived freely and without calculation. Tlie dream 
of love was over, and the reign of pleasure at an 
end. I determined to retrench while I had yet 
a trifle left : so selling my equipage and horses 
for half their value, I quietly put the money in 
my pocket, and turned pedestrian. I had not a 
doubt that, with my great expectations, I could 
at any time raise funds, either on usury or by 
borrowing ; but I was principled against both, 
and resolved by strict economy to make my slen- 
der purse hold out until my uncle should give up 
the ghost, or rather the estate. I stayed at home 
therefore and read, and would have written, but 
I had already suffered too much from my poetical 
productions, wliich had generally involved me in 
some ridiculous scrape. I gradually acquired a 
rusty look, and had a straitened money-borrowing 
air, upon whicli ^^'i world began to shy me. I 



B UCK THORNE. 257 

have never felt disposed to quarrel with the 
world for its conduct ; it has always used me 
well. Wlien I have been flush and gay, and 
disposed for society, it has caressed me ; and 
when I have been pinched and reduced, and 
wished to be alone, why, it has left me alone ; 
and what more could a man desire ? Take my 
word for it, this world is a more obliging world 
than people generally represent it. 

Well, sir, in the midst of my retrenchment, my 
retirement, and my studiousness, I received news 
that my uncle was dangerously ill. I hastened 
on the wings of an heir's affections to receive his 
dvinof breath and his last testament. I found 

A/ O 

him attended by his faithful valet, old Iron John ; 
by the woman who occasionally worked about 
the house, and by the foxy-headed boy, young 
Orson, whom I had occasionally hunted about the 
park. Iron John gasped a kind of asthmatical 
salutation as I entered the room, and received me 
with something almost like a smile of welcome. 
The woman sat blubbering at the foot of the 
bed ; and the foxy -headed Orson, who had now 
grown up to be a lubberly lout, stood gazing in 
stupid vacancy at a distance. 

My uncle lay stretched upon his back. The 
ciiamber was without fire, or any of the comforts 
of a sick-room. The cobwebs flaunted from the 
ceiling. The tester was covered with dust, and 
the curtains were tattered. From underneath the 
bed peeped out one end of his strong box. 
Against the wainscot were suspended rusty blun- 
derbusses, horse - pistols, and a cut - and - thrust 
17 



258 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Bword, with which he had fortified his room to 
defend his life and treasure. He had employed 
no physician during his illness ; and from the 
scanty relics lying on the table, seemed al- 
most to have denied himself the assistance of 
a cook. 

When I entered the room, he was lying 
motionless ; his eyes fixed and his mouth open : 
at the first look I thought him a corpse. The 
noise of my entrance made him turn his head. 
At the sight of me a ghastly smile came over his 
face, and his glazing eye gleamed with satisfac- 
tion. It was the only smile he had ever given 
me, and it went to my heart. " Poor old man ! " 
thought I, "why should you force me to leave 
you thus desolate, when I see that my presence 
has the power to cheer you ? " 

" Nephew," said he, after several efforts, and 
in a low gasping voice, — "I am glad you are 
come. I shall now die with satisfaction. Look," 
said he, raising his withered hand, and pointing, 
— " look in that box on the table : you will find 
that I have not forgotten you." 

I pressed his hand to my heart, and the tears 
stood in my eyes. I sat down by his bedside, 
and watched him, but he never spoke again. 
My presence, however, gave him evident satisfac- 
tion ; for every now and then, as he looked to 
me, a vague smile would come over his visage, 
and he would feebly point to the sealed box on 
the table. As the day wore away, his life ap 
peared to wear away with it. Towards sunset 
his head sank on the bed, and lay motionless, his 



BUCKTHORNE. 259 

eyes grew glazed, his mouth remained open, and 
thus he gradually died. 

I could not but feel shocked at this absolute 
extinction of my kindred. I dropped a tear of 
r(;;il sorrow over this strange old man, who had 
ihiis reserved the smile of kindness to his deatli- 
iied, — like an evening sun after a gloomy day, 
just shining out to set in darkness. Leaving the 
corpse in charge of the domestics, I retired for 
(he night. 

It was a rough nio;ht. The winds seemed as 
if singing my uncle's requiem about the mansion, 
and the bloodhounds howled without, as if they 
knew of the death of their old master. Iron 
John almost grudged me the tallow candle to 
burn in my apartment, and light up its dreariness, 
so accustomed had he been to starveling economy. 
I could not sleep. The recollection of my uncle's 
dying-scene, and the dreary sounds about the 
house, affected my mind. These, however, were 
succeeded by plans for the future, and I lay 
awake the greater part of the night, indulging 
the poetical anticipation how soon I should make 
these old Avails ring with cheerful life, and restore 
the hospitality of my mother's ancestors. 

^ly uncle's funeral was decent, but private. 
1 knew that nobody respected his memory, and I 
uTis determined none should be summoned to 
siH'cr over liis funeral, and make merry at his 
^fave. He was buried in the church of the 
uei*?hborin2: villasre, thouo-h it was not the burv- 
ing-place of his race ; but he had expressly en- 
joine<l tliat he should not be buried with his 



260 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

family ; he had quarrelled with most of them 
when living, and he carried his resentments even 
into the grave. 

I defrayed the expenses of his funeral out of 
my own purse, that I might have done with the 
undertakers at once, and clear the ill-omened 
birds from the premises. I invited the parson 
of the parish, and the lawyer from the village, to 
attend at the house the next morning, and hear 
the reading of the will. I treated them to an 
excellent breakfast, a profusion that had not been 
seen at the house for many a year. As soon as 
the breakfast things were removed, I summoned 
Iron John, the woman, and the boy, for I was 
particular in having every one present and pro- 
ceeding regularly. The box was placed on the 
table — all was silence — I broke the seal — 
raised the lid, and beheld — not the will — but 
my accursed poem of Doubting Castle and Giant 
Despair ! 

Could any mortal have conceived that this old 
witliered man, so taciturn, and apparently so lost 
^ feeling, coidd liavo treasured up for years the 
thoughtless pleasantry of a boy, to punish him 
with such cruel ingenuity ? I now could account 
/or his dying smile, the only one he had evei 
given me. He Iiad been a grave man all his life, 
it was strange that he sliould die in the enjoy- 
ment of a joke, and it w;is hard that itiat joke 
should be at my expense. 

The lawyer and the parson seemed at a loss to 
comprehend the matter. " Here must be some 
mistake," said the lawyei- ; " there is no wilJ 
'lere." 



BUCKTHORNE. 261 

" Oh ! " said Iron John, creaking forth his 
rusty jaws, " if it is a will you are looking for, T 
believe I can find one." 

He retired with the same singular smile with 
which he had greeted me on my arrival, and 
which I now apprehended boded me no good.- 
In a little while he returned with a will perfect 
at all points, properly signed and sealed, and wit- 
nessed and worded with horrible correctness ; in 
which the deceased left laro;e leoracies to Iron 
John and his daughter, and the residue of his 
fortune to the foxy-headed boy, who, to my utter 
astonishment, was his son by this very woman ; 
he having married her privately, and, as I verily 
believe, for no other purpose than to have an 
heir, and so balk my father and his issue of the 
inheritance. There was one little proviso, in 
which he mentioned, that, having discovered his 
nephew to have a pretty turn for poetry, he pre- 
sumed he had no occasion for wealth ; he recom- 
mended him, however, to the patronage of his 
heir, and requested that he might have a garret, 
rent-free, in Doubtmg Castle. 



GRAVE REFLECTIONS OF A DISAP- 
POINTED MAN. 




R. BUCKTHORNE had paused at the 
death of his uncle, and the downfall of 
his great expectations, which formed, as 
he said, an epoch in his history ; and it was not 
until some little time afterwards, and in a very 
Bober mood, that he resumed his party-colored 
narrative. 

After leaving the remains of my defunct uncle, 
said he, when the gate closed between me and 
what was once to have been mine, I felt thrust 
out naked into the world, and completely aban- 
doned to fortune. What was to become of me ? 
I had been brought up to nothing but expecta- 
tions, and they had all been disappointed. I had 
no relations to look to for counsel or assistance. 
The world seemed all to have died away from 
me. Wave after wave of relationship had ebbed 
oif, and I was left a mere hulk upon the strand. 
I am not apt to be greatly cast down, but at this 
time I felt sadly disheartened. T could not real- 
ize my situation, nor form a conjecture how I 
was to get forward. I was now to endeavor to 
make money. The idea was new and strange to 



A DISAPPOINTED MAN. 26S 

me. It was like being asked to discover the 
philosopher's stone. I had never thought about 
money otherwise than to put my hand into my 
pocket and find it ; or if there" were none there, 
to wait until a new supply came from home. I 
had considered life as a mere space of time to be 
filled up with enjoyments ; but to have it por- 
tioned out into long hours and days of toil, merely 
tliat I might gain bread to give me strength to 
toil on — to labor but for the purpose of perpetu- 
ating a life of labor, was new and appalling to 
me. This may appear a very simple matter to 
some ; but it will be understood by every unlucky 
wight in my predicament, who has had the mis- 
fortane of being born to great expectations. 

I passed several days in rambling about the 
scenes of my boyhood ; partly because I abso- 
lutely did not know what to do with myself, and 
partly because I did not know that I should ever 
see them again. I clung to them as one clings 
to a wreck, though he knows he must eventually 
cast himself loose and swim for his life. I sat 
down on a little hill within sight of my paternal 
home, but I did not venture to approach it, for I 
felt compunction at the thoughtlessness with which 
I had dissipated ray patrimony ; yet was I to 
blame when I had the rich possessions of my cur- 
mudgeon of an uncle in expectation ? 

The new possessor of the place was making 
great alterations. The house was almost rebuilt. 
The trees which stood about it were cut down ; 
my mother's flower-garden was thrown into a 
lawn, — all was undergoing a change. I turned 



264 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

my back upon it witli a sigh, and rambled to 
another part of the country. 

How thoughtful a little adversity makes one ! 
As 1 came within ^ight of the schoolhouse where 
I had so often been flo2<>:ed in the cause of wis- 
dom, you would liardly have recognized the 
truant boy, who, but a few years since, had 
eloped so heedlessly from its walls. I leaned 
over the paling of the play-ground, and watched 
the scholars at tlieir games, and looked to see if 
there might not be some urchin amono; them like 
I was once, full of gay dreams about life and the 
world. The play-ground seemed smaller than 
when I used to sport about it. The house and 
park, too, of the neighboring squire, the father 
of the cruel Sacharissa, liad shrunk in size and 
diminished in magnificence. The distant hills no 
longer appeared so far off, and, alas ! no longer 
awakened ideas of a fairy land beyond. 

As I was rambling pensively through a neigh- 
boi'ing meadow, in which I had many a time gath- 
ered primroses, I met the very pedagogue who 
had been the tyrant and dread of my boyhood. 
I had sometimes vowed to myself, when suffering 
under his rod, that I would have my revenge if 
ever I met him when I had grown to be a man. 
The time had come ; but I had no disposition to 
keep my vow. The few years which had matured 
ine into a vigorous man had shrunk him into 
decrepitude. He appeared to have had a para- 
lytic stroke. I looked at him, and wondered that 
this poor helpless mortal could have been an ob- 
lect of terror to me ; that I should have watched 



A DISAPPOINTED 31 AN. 265 

with anxiety the glance of that failing eye, or 
dreaded the power of that trembling hand. He 
tottered feebly along the path, and had some dif- 
ficulty in getting over a stile. ' I ran and assisted 
him. He looked at me with surprise, bnt did 
not i-ecognize me, and made a low bow of hu- 
mility and thanks. 1 had no disposition to make 
myself known, for I felt that I had nothing to 
boast of. The pains he had taken, and the pains 
he had inflicted, had been equally useless. His 
repeated predictions were fully verified, and I felt 
that little Jack Buckthorne, the idle boy, had 
grown to be a very good-for-nothing man. 

This is all very comfortless detail ; but as I 
have told you of my follies, it is meet that I show 
you how for once I was schooled for them. The 
most thoughtless of mortals will some time or 
other have his day of gloom, when he will be 
compelled to reflect. 

I felt on this occasion as if I had a kind of 
penance to perform, and I made a pilgrimage in 
expiation of my past levity. Having passed a 
night at Leamington, I set off by a private path, 
which leads up a hill through a grove and across 
quiet fields, till I came to the small village, or 
rather hamlet, of Lenington. I sought the vil- 
lage church. It is an old low edifice of gray 
stone, on the brow of a small hill, looking over 
fertile fields, towards where the proud towers of 
Warwick castle lift themselves against the distant 
horizon. 

A part of the churchyard is shaded by large 
vrees. Under one of them my mother lay buried. 



266 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

You have no doubt thought me a light, heartle&« 
being. I thought myself so ; but there are mo- 
ments of adversity which let us into some feelings 
of our nature to which we might otherwise re- 
main perpetual strangers. 

I sought my mother's grave ; the weeds were 
already matted over it, and the tombstone was 
half hid among nettles. I cleared them away, 
and they stung my hands ; but I was heedless of 
the pain, for my heart ached too severely. I sat 
down on the grave, and red over and over again 
the epitaph on the stone. 

It was simple, — but it was true. I had writ- 
ten it myself. I had tried to write a poetical epi- 
taph, but in vain ; my feelings refused to utter 
themselves in rhyme. My heart had gradually 
been filling during my lonely wanderings ; it was 
now charged to the brim, and overflowed. I sank 
upon the grave, and buried my face in the tall 
grass, and wept like a child. Yes, I wept in man- 
hood upon the grave, as I had in infancy upon the 
bosom of my mother. Alas ! how little do we ap- 
preciate a mother's tenderness while living ! how 
heedless are we in youth of all her anxieties and 
kindness ! But when she is dead and gone ; 
when the cares and coldness of the world come 
withering to our hearts ; when we find how hard 
it is to meet with true sympathy ; how few love 
us for ourselves ; how few will befriend us in 
our misfortunes ; then it is that we think of the 
mother we have lost. It is true I had always 
loved my mother, even in my most heedless days ; 
but I felt how inconsiderate and ineffectual had 



A DISAPPOINTED MAN. 267 

been my love. My heart melted as I retraced 
the days of infancy, when I was led by a moth- 
er's hand, and rocked to sleep in a mother's arms, 
and was without care or sorrow. " O my 
mother ! " exclaimed I, burying my face again in 
the grass of the grave ; " oh that I v^'^ere once 
more by your side ; sleeping never to wake 
again on the cares and troubles of this world." 

I am not naturally of a morbid temperament, 
and the violence of my emotion gradually ex- 
hausted itself. It was a hearty, honest, natural 
discharge of grief which had been slowly accu- 
mulating, and gave me wonderful relief. I rose 
from the grave as if I had been offering up a 
sacrifice, and I felt as if that sacrifice had been 
accepted. 

I sat down again on the grass, and plucked, 
one by one, the weeds from her grave : the tears 
trickled more slowly down my cheeks, and ceased 
to be bitter. It was a comfort to think that she 
had died before sorrow and poverty came upon 
her child and all his great expectations were 
blasted. 

I leaned my cheok upon my hand, and looked 
upon the landscape. Its quiet beauty soothed 
me. The whistle of a peasant from an adjoin- 
ing field came cheerily to my ear. I seemed to 
respire hope and comfort with the free air that 
whispered through the leaves, and played lightly 
with my hair, and dried the tears upon my cheek. 
A lark, rising from the field before me, and leav- 
ing as it were a stream of song behind him as he 
rose, lifted my fancy with him. He hovered in 



268 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

the air just abo^'e the place where the towers of 
Warwick castle marked the horizon, and seemed 
as if fluttering with delight at his own melody. 
" Surely," thought I, " if there was such a thing as 
transmigration of souls, this might be taken for 
some poet let loose from earth, but still revelling 
in song, and carolling about fair fields and lordly 
towers." 

At this moment the long-forgotten feeling of 
poetry rose within me. A thought sprang at 
once into my mind. — "I will become an au- 
thor ! " said I. " I have hitherto indulged in 
poetry as a pleasure, and it has brought me 
nothing but pain ; let me try what it will do 
when I cultivate it with devotion as a pursuit." 

The resolution thus suddenly aroused within me 
heaved a load from off my heart. I felt a confi- 
dence in it from the very place where it was 
formed. It seemed as though my mother's spirit 
whispered it to me from the grave. " T will 
henceforth," said I, " endeavor to be all that she 
fondly imagined me. I will endeavor to act as if 
she were witness of my actions ; I will endeavor 
to acquit myself in such a manner that, when I 
revisit her grave, there may at least be no com- 
punctious bitterness with my tears." 

I bowed down and kissed the turf in solemn 
attestation of my vow. I plucked some primroses 
that were growing there, and laid them next my 
heart. I left the churchyard with my spirit once 
more lifted up, and set out a third time for Lon- 
don in the character of an author. — 

Here my companion made a pause and I 



A DISAPPOINTED MAN. 26d 

waited in anxious suspense, hoping to have a 
whole voUime of literary life unfolded to me. 
He seemed, however, to have sunk into a fit of 
pensive musing, and when, after some time, I 
gently roused him by a question or tw^o as to his 
literary career, 

" No," said he, smiling : " over that part of my 
story I wish to leave a cloud. Let the myste- 
ries of the craft rest sacred for me. Let those 
who have never ventured into the republic of 
letters still look upon it as a fairy land. Let 
them suppose the author the very being they pic- 
ture him from his works — I am not the man to 
mar their illusion. I am not the man to hint, 
while one is admiring the silken Aveb of Persia, 
that it has been spun from the entrails of a mis- 
erable worm." 

" Well," said I, " if you will tell me nothing of 
your literary history, let me know at least if you 
have liad any further intelligence from Doubting 
Castle." 

" Willingly," replied he. " though I iiave but 
little to communicate." 




THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 




LONG time elapsed, said Buckthorne, 
without my receiving any accounts of 
my cousin and his estate. Indeed, I 
felt so much soreness on the subject, that I 
wished, if possible, to shut it from my thoughts. 
At length, chance took me to that part of the 
country, and I could not refrain from making 
some inquiries. 

I learnt that my cousin had grown up ignorant, 
self-willed, and clownish. His ignorance and 
clownishness had prevented his mingling with the 
neighboring gentry : in spite of his great fortune, 
he had been unsuccessful in an attempt to gain 
the hand of the daughter of the parson, and had 
at length shrunk into the limits of such a society 
as a mere man of wealth can gather in a country 
neighborhood. 

He kept horses and hounds, and a roaring 
table, at which were collected the loose livers of 
the country round, and the shabby gentlemen of 
a village in the vicinity. When he could get no 
other company, he would smoke and drink with 
his own servants, who in turn fleeced and despised 
him. Still, with all his apjjajent prodigality, h*» 



THE BOOBY SQUIRE, 271 

had a leaveii of the old man in him, which showed 
that he was his trueborn son. He lived far 
within his income, was vulgar in his expenses, 
and penurious in many points wherein a gentle- 
man would be extravagant. His house-servants 
were obliged occasionally to work on his estate, 
and part of the pleasure-grounds were ploughed 
up and devoted to husbandry. 

His table, though plentiful, was coarse ; his 
liquors were strong and bad ; and more ale and 
whiskey were expended in his establishment than 
generous whie. He was loud and arrogant at 
his own table, and exacted a rich man's homage 
from his vulgar and obsequious guests. 

As to Iron John, his old grandfather, he hud 
grown impatient of the tight hand his own grand- 
son kept over him, and quarrelled with him soon 
after he came to the estate. The old man had 
retired to the neighboring village, where he lived 
on the legacy of his late master, in a small cot- 
tage, and was as seldom seen out of it as a r^it 
out of his hole in daylight. 

The cub, like Calaban, seemed to have an in- 
stinctive attachment to his mother. She resided 
with him, but, from long habit, she acted more as 
a servant than as a mistress of the mansion ; for 
she toiled in all the domestic di'udgery, and was 
oftener in the kitchen than the parlor. Such was 
the information which I collected of my rival 
cousin, who had so unexpectedly elbowed me out 
of my expectations. 

I mnv felt an irresistible hankering to pay a 
I jsil to this scene of my boyhood, and to get a 



272 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

peep at the odd kind of life that was passing 
within the mansion of ray maternal ancestors. 
I determined to do so in disguise. My booby 
cousin had never seen enough of me to be very 
familiar with my countenance, and a few years 
make a great difference between youth and man- 
hood. I understood he was a breeder of cattle, 
and proud of his stock ; I dressed myself there- 
fore as a substantial farmer, and with the assist- 
ance of a red scratch that came low down on my 
forehead, made a complete change in my physi- 
ognomy. 

It was past three o'clock when I arrived at 
the gate of the park, and was admitted by an old 
woman who was washing in a dilapidated build- 
ing, which had once been a porter's lodge. I 
advanced up the remains of a noble avenue, 
many of the trees of which had been cut down 
and sold for timber. The grounds were in 
scarcely better keeping than during my uncle's 
lifetime. The o;rass was overo;rown with weeds, 
and the trees wanted pruning and clearing of 
dead branches. Cattle were grazing about the 
lawns, and ducks and geese swimming in the 
fish ponds. The road to the house bore very few 
traces of carriage-wheels, as my cousin received 
few visitors but such as came on foot or horse- 
back, and never used a carriage liimself Once, 
indeed, as I \\'as told, he had the old family 
carriaije di-awn out from amono; the dust and 
cobwebs of the coacli-housc, and furbished up, 
and driven, vvith his mother, to the village church, 
to take formal possession of the family pew ; but 



THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 273 

there was such hooting and laughing after them, 
as they passed through the village, and such gig- 
gling and bantering about the church-door, that 
the pageant hrid never made a reappearance. 

As I approached the house, a legion of whelps 
tallied out, barking at me, accompanied by the 
low howling, rather than barking, of two old 
worn-out blood-hounds, which I recognized for the 
ancient lifeguards of my uncle. The house had 
still a neglected random appearance, though much 
altered for the better since my last visit. Sev- 
eral of the windows were broken and patched 
up with boards, and others had been bricked up 
to save taxes. I observed smoke, however, ris- 
ing from the chimneys, a phenomenon rarely wit- 
nessed in the ancient establishment. On passing 
that part of the house where the dining-room was 
situated, I heard the sound of boisterous merri- 
ment, where three or four voices were talking at 
once, and oaths and laughter were horribly min- 
gled. 

The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant 
to the door, a tall hard-fisted country clown, with 
a livery coat put over the under garments of a 
ploughman. I requested to see the master of the 
house, but was told that he was at dinner with 
some " gemmen " of the neighborhood. I made 
known my business, and sent in to know if I 
might talk with the master about his cattle, for I 
felt a great desire to have a peep at him in his 
orgies. 

Word was returned that he was engaged with 
company, and could not attend to business, but 
18 



274 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

that if I would step in and take a drink of some- 
thing, I was heartily welcome. I accordingly 
entered the hall, where whips and hats of all 
kinds and shapes were lying on an oaken table ; 
two or three clownish servants were louno-ino; 
about ; everything had a look of confusion and 
carelessness. 

The apartments through which I passed had 
the same air of departed gentility and sluttish 
housekeeping. The once rich curtains were faded 
and dusty ; the furniture greased and tarnished. 
On entering the dining-room, I found a number 
of odd, vulgar-looking, rustic gentlemen, seated 
round a table, on which were bottles, decanters, 
tankards, pipes, and tobacco. Several dogs were 
lying about the room, or sitting and watching 
their masters, and one was gnawing a bone under 
a side-table. The master of the feast sat at the 
head of the board. He was greatly altered. 
He had grown thickset and rather gummy, with a 
fiery foxy head of hair. There was a singular 
mixture of foolishness, arrogance, and conceit in 
his countenance. He was dressed in a vulgarly 
fine style, with leather breeches, a red waistcoat, 
and green coat, and was evidently, like his guests, 
a little flushed with drinking. The whole com- 
pany stared at me with a whimsical muzzy look, 
like men whose senses were a little obfuscated 
by beer rather than wine. 

My cousin, (God forgive me ! the appellation 
sticks in my throat,) my cousin invited me with 
awkward civility, or, as he intended it, condescen- 
sion, to sit to the table and drink. We talked, as 



THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 275 

usual, about the weather, the crops, politics, and 
ha,rd times. My cousin was a loud politician, 
and evidently accustomed to talk without contra- 
diction at his own table. He was amazingly 
loyal, and talked of standing by the throne to the 
last guinea, " as every gentleman of fortune 
should . do." The village exciseman, who was 
half asleep, could just ejaculate "very true" to 
everything he said. The conversation turned 
upon cattle ; he boasted of his breed, his mode 
of crossing it, and of the general management of 
his estate. This unluckily drew out a history of 
the place and of the family. He spoke of my 
late uncle with the greatest irreverence, which I 
could easily forgive. He mentioned my name, 
and my blood began to boil. He described my 
frequent visits to my uncle, when I was a lad, 
and I found the varlet, even at that time, imp as 
he was, had known that he was to inherit the 
estate. He described the scene of my uncle's 
death, and the opening of the will, with a degree 
of coarse humor that I had not expected from 
him ; and, vexed as I was, I could not help join- 
ing in the laugh, for I have always relished a 
joke, even though made at my own expense. 
He went on to speak of my various pursuits, my 
strolling freak ; and that somewhat nettled me ; at 
length he talked of my parents. He ridiculed 
my father ; I stomached even that, though with 
great difficulty. He mentioned my mother with 
a sneer, and in an instant he lay sprawling at my 
feet. 

Here a tumult succeeded : the table waa 



276 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

aeai'ly overturned ; bottles, glasses, and tankards 
rolled crashing and clattering about the floor. 
The company seized hold of both of us, to keep 
us from doing any further mischief. I struggled 
to get loose, for I was boiling with fury. My 
cousin defied me to strip and fight him on the 
lawn. I agreed, for I felt the strength of a giant 
in me, and I longed to pommel him soundly. 

Away then we were borne. A ring was 
formed. I had a second assigned me in true 
boxing style. My cousin, as he advanced to 
fight, said something about his generosity in 
showing me such fair play, when I had made 
such an unprovoked attack upon him at his own 
table. " Stop there," cried I, in a rage. " Un- 
provoked ? know that I am John Buckthorne, and 
you have insulted the memory of my mother." 

The lout was suddenly struck by what I said : 
he drew back, and thought for a moment. 

*"' Nay, damn it," said he, " that 's too much — 
that 's clean another thing — I 've a mother ray- 
self — and no one shall speak ill of her, bad as 
she is." 

He paused again : nature seemed to have a 
rough struggle in his rude bosom. 

" Damn it, cousin," cried he, " I 'm sorry for 
what I said. Thou 'st served me right in knock- 
ing me down, and I like thee the better for it. 
Here 's my hand : come and live with me, and 
damn me but the best room in the house, and the 
best horse in the stable, shall be at thy service." 

I declare to you I was strongly moved at this 
instance of nature breaking her way through 



TEE BOOBY SQUIRE. 



277 



Buch a lump of flesh. I forgave the fellow in a 
moment his two heinous crimes, of having been 
born in wedlock, and inheriting my estate. I 
shook the hand he offered me, to convince him 
that I bore him no ill-will ; and then making my 
way through the gaping crowd of toad-eaters, bade 
adieu to my uncle's domains forever. — This \h 
the last I have seen or heard of my cousin, or of 
the domestic concerns of Doubting Castle. 




THE STROLLING MANAGER. 




S I was walking one morning with 
Buckthorne near one of the principal 
theatres, he directed my attention to a 
group of those equivocal beings that may often 
be seen hovering about the stage-doors of thea- 
tres. They were marvellously ill-favored in 
their attire, their coats buttoned up to their chins ; 
yet they wore their hats smartly on one side, and 
had a certain knowing, dirty- gentlemanlike air, 
which is common to the subalterns of the drama. 
Buckthorne knew them well by early experience. 
" These," said he, " are the ghosts of departed 
kings and heroes ; fellows who sway sceptres and 
trimcheons ; command kingdoms and armies ; 
and after giving away realms and treasures over 
night, have scarce a shilling to pay for a break- 
fast in the morning. Yet they have the true 
vagabond abhorrence of all useful and industrious 
employment ; and they have their pleasures too ; 
one of which is to lounge in this way in the sun- 
shine, at the stnge-door, during rehearsals, and 
make hackneyed theatrical jokes on all passers- 
by. Nothing is more traditional and legitimate 
than the stage. Old scenery, old clothes, old 
Bentiments old ranting, and old jokes, are handed 



THE STROLLING MANAGER. 279 

down from generation to generation ; and will 
probably continue to be so until time shall be no 
more. Every hanger-on of a theatre becomes a 
wag by inheritance, and flourishes about at tap- 
rooms and sixpenny clubs with the property jokes 
of the green-room." 

While amusing ourselves with reconnoitring 
this group, we noti(!ed one in particular who ap- 
peared to be the oracle. He was a weather- 
beaten veteran, a little bronzed by time and beer, 
who had no doubt grown gray in the parts of 
robbers, cardinals, Roman senators, and w^alking 
noblemen. 

" There is something in the set of that hat, 
and the turn of that physiognomy, extremely 
familiar to me," said Buckthorne. He looked a 
little closer, — "I cannot be mistaken, that must 
be my old brother of the truncheon, Flimsey, the 
tragic hero of the Strolling Company." 

It was he in fact. The poor fellow showed 
evident signs that times went hard with him, he 
was so finely and shabbily dressed. His coat 
was somewhat threadbare, and of the Lord 
Townly cut ; single breasted, and scarcely capa- 
ble of meeting in front of his body, which, from 
long intimacy, had acquired the symmetry and 
robustness of a beer-barrel. He wore a pair of 
dingy-white stockinet pantaloons, which had much 
ado to reach his waistcoat, a great quantity of 
dii'ty cravat ; and a pair of old russet-colored 
tragedy boots. 

When his companions had dispersed, Buck- 
thorne drew him aside, and made himself known 



280 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

to him. The tragic veteran could scarcely recog- 
nize him, or believe that lie was really his quon- 
dam associate, " little Gentleman Jack." Buck- 
thorne invited him to a neighboring coffee-house 
to talk over old times ; and in the course of a 
little while we were put in possession of his his- 
tory in brief. 

He had continued to act the heroes in the 
strolling company for some time after Buckthorne 
had left it, or leather had been driven from it so 
abruptly. At length the manager died, and the 
troop was thrown into confusion. Every one 
aspired to the crown, every one was for taking 
the lead ; and the manager's widow, although a 
tragedy queen, and a brimstone to boot, pro- 
nounced it utterly impossible for a woman to 
keep any control over such a set of tempestuous 
rascallions. 

" Upon this hint, I spoke," said Flimsey. I 
stepped forward, and offered my services in the 
most effectual way. They were accepted. In a 
week's time I married the widow, and succeeded 
to the throne. " The funeral baked meats did 
coldly furnish forth the marriage table," as Ham- 
let says. But the ghost of my predecessor never 
haunted me ; and I inherited crowns, sceptres, 
bowls, daggers, and all the stage trappings and 
trumpery, not omitting the widow, without the 
least molestation. 

I now led a flourishing life of it ; for our 
company was pretty strong and attractive, and 
as my wife and I took the heavy parts of tragedy, 
it was a great saving to the treasury. We car 



THE STROLLING MANAGER. 281 

ried off the palm from all the rival shows al 
country fairs ; and I assure you we have even 
drawn full houses, and been applauded by the 
critics at Batlemy Fair itself, though we had 
Astley's troop, the Irish giant, and " the death 
of Nelson " in wax work, to contend against. 

I soon began to experience, however, the cares 
of command. I discovered that there w^ere ca- 
bals breaking out in the company, headed by the 
clown, who you may recollect was a terribly 
peevish, fractious fellow, and always in ill-humor. 
I had a great mind to turn him off at once, but I 
could not do without him, for there was not a 
droller scoundrel on the stage. His very shape 
was comic, for he had but to turn his back 
upon the audience, and all the ladies were ready 
to die with laughing. He felt his importance, 
and took advantage of it. He would keep the 
audience in a continual Foar, and then come be- 
hind the scenes, and fret and fume, and play the 
very devil. I excused a great deal in him, how- 
ever, knovving that comic actors are a little prone 
to this infirmity of temper. 

I had another trouble of a nearer and dearei 
nature to struggle with, which was the affection 
of my wife. As ill luck would have it, she took 
it into her head to be very fond of me, and be- 
came intolerably jealous. I could not keep a 
pretty girl in tlie company, and hardly dared em- 
brace an ugly one, even when my part required it. 
I have known her reduce a fine lady to tatters. 
'' to very rags," as Hamlet says, in an instant, and 
destroy one of the very best" dresses in i\\xi v*ard- 



282 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

robe, mei-ely because she saw me kiss, her at the 
side scenes ; though I give you mj honor it was 
done merely by way of rehearsah 

This was doubly annoying, because I liave a 
natural liking to pretty faces, and wish to have 
them about me ; and because they are indispensa- 
ble to the success of a company at a fair, where 
one has to vie with so many rival theatres. But 
when once a jealous wife gets a freak in her head, 
there 's no use in talking of interest or anything 
else. Egad, sir, I have more than once trembled 
when, during a fit of her tantrums, she was play- 
ing high tragedy, and flourishing her tin daggei 
on the stage, lest she should give way to her hu- 
mor, and stab some fencied rival in good earnest. 

I went on better, however, than could be ex- 
pected, considering the weakness of my flesh, and 
the violence of my rib. I had not a much worse 
time of it than old Jupiter, whose sjDouse was 
continually ferreting out some new intrigue, and 
making the heavens almost too hot to hold him. 

At length, as luck would have it, we were per- 
forming at a country fair, when I understood the 
theatre of a neisrhborino; town to be vacant. I 
had always been desirous to be enrolled in a set- 
tled company, and the height of my desire was 
to get on a par with a brother-in-law, who was 
manager of a regular theatre, and who had looked 
down upon me. Here was an opportunity not 
to be neo;lected. I concluded an agreement with 
the proprietors, and in a few days opened the 
theatre with great eclat. 

Behold me now at the summit of my ambition 



THE STROLLTNG MANAGER 283 

* the high top-gallant of my joy," as Romeo says. 
No longer a chieftain of a wanclerino; tribe, but a 
monarch of a legitimate throne, and entitled to 
call even the great potentates of Co vent Garden 
and Drury Lane cousins. You, no doubt, think 
my happiness complete. Alas, sir ! I was one 
of the most uncomfortable dogs living. No one 
knows, who has not tried, the miseries of a man- 
ager ; but above all of a country manager. No 
one can conceive tlie contentions and quarrels 
within doors, the oppressions and vexations from 
without. I was pestered with the bloods and 
loungers of a country town, who infested my 
green-room, and played the mischief among my 
actresses. But there was no shaking them off. 
It would have been ruin to affront them ; for 
though troublesome friends, they would have 
been dangerous enemies. Then there was the 
village critics and village amateurs, who were 
continually tormenting me with advice, and get- 
ting into a passion if I would not take it ; espe- 
cially the village doctor and the village attorney, 
who had both been to London occasionally, and 
knew what acting should be. 

I had also to manage as arrant a crew of scape- 
graces as ever wei'e collected too;ether within the 
walls of a theatre. I had been obliged to com- 
bine my original troop with some of the former 
troop of the theatre, who were favorites of the 
public. Here was a mixture that })roduced per- 
petual ferment. They were all the time either 
fisjhtino- or frolickino; with each other, and I 
scarcely know which mood was least troublesome, 



284 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

If tliey quarrelled, everything went wrong juijI 
if they were friends, they were continually play- 
ing off some prank upon each other, or upon me ; 
for I had unhappily acquired among them the 
character of an easy, good-natured fellow, — the 
worst character that a manager can possess. 

Their waggery at times drove me almost crazy 
for there is nothing so vexatious as the hackneyed 
tricks and hoaxes and pleasantries of a veteran 
band of theatrical vagabonds. I relished them 
well enough, it is true, while I was merely one 
of the company, but as a manager I found them 
detestable. They were incessantly bringing some 
disgrace upon the theatre by their tavern frolics 
and their pranks about the countiy town. All 
my lectures about the importance of keeping up 
the dignity of the profession and tlie respectability 
of the company were in vain. The villains could 
not sympathize with the delicate feelings of a man 
in station. They even trifled with the serious- 
ness of stage business. I have had the whole 
piece interrupted, and a crowded audience of at 
least twenty-five pounds kept waiting, because the 
actors had hid away the breeches of Rosalind ; 
and have known Hamlet to stalk solemnly on to 
deliver his soliloquy, with a disli-clout pinned to 
his skirts. Such are the baleful consequences of 
•-1 manager's getting a character for good -nature. 

I was intolerably annoyed, too, by the great 
actors who came down starring, as it is called, 
from London. Of all baneful influences, keep me 
from that of a London star. A first-rate actress 
going the rounds of the country theatres is as bad 



THE STROLLING MANAGER. 285 

as a blazing comet whisking about the heavens, 
and shaking fire and plagues and discords from 
its tail. 

The moment one of these " heavenly bodies " 
appeared in ray horizon, I was sure to be in hot 
water. My theatre was overrun by provincial 
dandies, copper-washed counterfeits of Bond Street 
loungers, who are always proud to be in the train 
of an actress from town, and anxious to be 
thought on exceeding good terms with her. It 
was really a relief to me when some random 
young nobleman would come in pursuit of the 
bait, and awe all this small fry at a distance. I 
have always felt myself more at ease with a 
nobleman than with the dandy of a country 
town. 

And then the injuries I suffered in my per- 
sonal dignity and my managerial authority from 
the visits of these great London actors ! 'Sblood, 
sir, I was no longer master of myself on my 
throne. I was hectored and lectured in my own 
green-room^ and made an absolute nincompoop on 
my own stage. There is no tyrant so absolute 
and capricious as a London star at a country the- 
atre. I dreaded the sight of all of them, and yet 
if I did not engage them, I was sure of having 
the public clamorous against me. They drew full 
houses, and appeared to be making my fortune ; 
but they swallowed up all the profits by their 
insatiable demands. They were absolute tape- 
worms to my little theatre ; the more it took in 
the poorer it grew. They were sure to leave me 
with an exhausted public, empty benches, aiid a 



286 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Bcore or two of affronts to settle among tlie towns, 
folk, in consequence of misunderstandings about 
die taking of places. 

But the worst thing I had to undergo in my 
managerial career was patronage. Oh, sir ! of 
all things deliver me from the patronage of thft 
great people of a country town. It was my ruin. 
You must know that this town, though small, 
was filled with feuds, and parties, and great folks ; 
being a busy little trading and manufacturing 
town. The mischief was that their greatness 
was of a kind not to be settled by reference to 
the court calendar, or college of heraldry ; it was 
therefore the most quarrelsome kind of greatness 
in existence. You smile, sir, but let me tell you 
there are no feuds more furious than the frontier 
feuds which take place in these " debatable lands " 
of gentilily. The most violent dispute that I 
ever knew in high life was one which occurred at 
a country town, on a question of precedence be- 
tween the ladies of a manufacturei of pins and a 
manufacturer of needles. 

At the town where I was situated there were 
perpetual altercations of the kind. The head 
manufacturer's lady, for instance, Vv^as at daggers- 
drawings with the head shopkeeper's, and both 
were too rich and had too many friends to be 
treated lightly. The doctor's and lawyer's ladies 
held their heads still higher ; but they in turn 
were kept in check by the wife of a country 
banker, who kept her own carriage ; while a 
masculine widow of cracked character and second- 
Uanded fashion, who lived in a large house and 



TEE STROLLING MANAGER. 287 

claimed to be in some way related to nobility, 
looked down upon them all. To be sure, her 
manners were not over-elegant, nor her fortune 
over-large ; but then, sir, her blood — oh, her blood 
carried it all hollow ; there was no withstanding 
:i woman with such blood in her veins. 

After all, her claims to high connection were 
(questioned, and she had frequent battles for prec- 
edence at balls and assemblies with some of the 
sturdy dames of the neighborhood, who stood 
upon their wealth and their virtue ; but then she 
had two dashing daughters, who dressed as fine 
as dragoons, and had as high blood as their 
mother, and seconded her in everything ; so they 
carried their point with high heads, and every- 
body hated, abused, and stood in awe of the Fan- 
tadlins. 

Such was the state of the fashionable world 
in this self-important little town. Unluckily, I 
was not as well acquainted with its politics as I 
should have been. I had found myself a stranger 
and in great perplexities during my first season ; 
I determined, therefore, to put myself under the 
patronage of some powerful name, and thus to 
take the field with the prejudices of the public in 
my favor. I cast around my thoughts for that 
purpose, and in an evil hour they fell upon Mrs. 
Fantadlin. No one seemed to me to have a more 
absolute sway in the Avorld of fashion. I had 
always noticed that her party slammed the box- 
door the loudest at the theatre ; and had the most 
beaux attending on them, and talked and laughed 
loudest during the performance ; and then the 



288 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Miss Fantadlins wore always more featners and 
flowers than any other ladies ; and used quizzing- 
glasses incessantly. The first evening of my the- 
atre's reopening, therefore, was announced in 
staring capitals on the play-bills, as under the 
patronage of '' The Honorable Mrs. Fantadlin." 

Sir, the whole community flew to arms ! the 
banker's wife felt her dignity grievously insulted 
at not having the preference ; her husband being 
high bailiff and the richest man in the place. 
She immediately issued invitations for a large 
party, for the night of the performance, and asked 
many a lady to it whom she never had noticed 
before. Presume to patronize the theatre ! , in- 
sufferable ! And then for me to dare to term her 
" The Honorable ! " What claim had she to the 
title forsooth ? The fashionable world had long 
groaned under the tyranny of the Fantadlins, and 
were glad to make a common cause against this 
new instance of assumption. Those, too, who 
had never before been noticed by the banker's 
lady were ready to enlist in any quarrel for the 
honor of her acquaintance. All minor feuds were 
forgotten. The doctor's lady and the lawyer's 
lady met together, and the manufacturer's lady 
and the shopkeeper's lady kissed each other ; and 
all, headed by the banker's lady, voted the thea- 
tre a hore, and determined to encourage nothing 
but the Indian Juo-^lers and Mr. Walker's Eidou- 
ranion, 

Alas for poor Pillgarlick ! I knew little the 
mischief that was brewing against me. My box- 
book remained blank ; the evening arrived ; but 



THE STROLLING MANAGER. 289 

no audience. The music struck up to a tolera- 
ble pit and gallery, but no fashionables ! I peeped 
anxiously from behind the curtain, but the time 
passed away; the play was retarded until pit and 
gallery became furious ; and I had to raise the 
curtain, and play my greatest part in tragedy to 
" a beggarly account of empty boxes." 

It is true the Fantadlins came late, as was 
their custom, and entered like a tempest, with a 
flutter of feathers and red sliawls ; but they were 
evidently disconcerted at finding they had no one 
to admire and envy them, and were enraged at 
this glaring defection of their fashionable follow- 
ers. All the beau-monde were engaged at the 
banker's lady's rout. They remained for some 
time in solitary and uncomfortable state ; and 
though they had the theatre almost to themselves, 
yet, for the first time, they talked in whispers. 
They left the house at the end of the first piece, 
and I never saw them afterwards. 

Such was the rock on which I split. I never 
got over the patronage of the Fantadlin family. 
My house was deserted ; my actors grew discon- 
tented . because they were ill paid ; my door be- 
came a hammering place for every bailiff in the 
country ; and my wife became more and more 
shrewish and tormenting the more I wanted com- 
fort. 

I tried for a time the usual consolation of 
a harassed and henpecked man ; I took to the 
bottle, and tried to tipple away my cares, but m 
vain. I don't mean to decry the bottle ; it is no 
doubt an excellent remedy in many cases, but it 
19 



290 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

did not answer in mine. It cracked my voice, 
coppered my nose, but neither improved my wife 
nor my affairs. My establisinnent became a scene 
of confusion and peculation. I was considered a 
ruined man, and of course fair game for every 
one to pluck at, as every one plunders a sinking 
ship. Day after day some of the troop deserted, 
and, like deserting soldiers, carried off their arms 
and accoutrements with them. In this manner 
my wardrobe took legs and walked away, my 
finery strolled all over the country, my swords 
and daggers glittered in every barn, until, at last, 
my tailor made " one fell swoop," and carried off 
three dress-coats, half a dozen doublets, and nine- 
teen pair of flesh-colored pantaloons. This was 
the " be all and the end all " of my fortune. I 
no longer hesitated what to do. Egad, thought 
I, since stealing is the order of the day, I '11 steal 
too ; so I secretly gathered together the jewels 
of my wardrobe, packed up a hero's dress in a 
handkerchief, slung it on the end of a tragedy 
sword, and quietly stole off at dead of night, " the 
bell then beating one," leaving my queen and 
kingdom to the mercy of my rebellious subjects, 
and my merciless foes the bumbailiffs. 

Such, sir, was the " end of all my greatness." 
I was heartily cured of all passion for governing, 
and returned once more into the ranks. I had 
for some time the usual run of an actor's life. I 
played in various country theatres, at fairs, and 
in barns ; sometimes hard pushed, sometimes 
flush, until, on one occasion, I came within an 
ace of making my fortune, and becoming one of 
the wonders of tlie age. 



THE STROLLING MANAGER. 291 

I was playing the part of Richard the Third 
in a country barn, and in my best style ; for, to 
tell the truth, I was a little in liquor, and the 
critics of the company always observed that I 
played with most effect when I had a glass too 
nuich. There was a thunder of applause when 
r came to that part where Richard cries for " a 
horse ! a horse ! " My cracked voice had always 
a wonderful effect here ; it was like two voices 
run into one ; you would have thought two men 
had been calling for a horse, or that Richard had 
called for two horses. And when I flung the 
taunt at Richmond, " Richard is hoarse with call- 
ing thee to arms," I thought the barn would have 
come down about my ears with the raptures of 
the audience. 

The very next morning a person waited upon 
me at my lodgings. I saw at once he was a gen- 
tleman by his dress ; for he had a large brooch 
in his bosom, thick rings on his fingers, and used 
a quizzing-glass. And a gentleman he proved to 
be ; for I soon ascertained that he was a kept au- 
thor, or kind of literary tailor to one of the great 
London theatres ; one who worked under the 
manager's directions, and cut up and cut down 
plays, and patched and pieced, and new faced, and 
turned them inside out ; in short, he was one of 
the readiest and greatest writers of the day. 

He was now on a foraging excursion in quest 
of something that might be got up for a prodigy. 
The theatre, it seems, was in desperate condition 
— nothing but a miracle could save it. He had 
seen me act Richard the night before, and had 



292 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

pitched upon me for that miracle. I had a re- 
markable bluster in my style and swagger in my 
gait. I certainly differed from all other heroes 
of the barn : so the thought struck the agent to 
bring me out as a theatrical wonder, as the re- 
storer of natural and legitimate acting, as the 
only one who could understand and act Shak- 
speare rightly. 

When he opened his plan I shrunk from it 
with becoming modesty, for well as I thought of 
myself, I doubted my competency to such an un- 
dertaking. 

I hinted at my imperfect knowledge of Shak- 
speare, having played his characters only after 
mutilated copies, interlarded with a great deal of 
my own talk by way of helping memory or 
heightening the effect. 

" So much the better ! " cried the gentleman 
with rings on his fingers ; " so much the better ! 
New readings, sir ! — new readings ! Don't study 
a line — let us have Shakspeare after your own 
fashion." 

" But then my voice was cracked ; it could 
not fill a London theatre." 

" So much the better ! so much the better ! 
The public is tired of intonation — the ore ro- 
tundo has had its day. No, sir, your cracked 
voice is the very thing ; — spit and splutter, and 
snap and snarl, and ' play the very dog ' about 
the stage, and you '11 be the making of us." 

" But then," — I could not help blushing to 
the end of my very nose as I said it, but I was 
determined to be candid, — " but then," added I, 



TEE STROLLING MANAGER. 293 

^ there is one awkward circumstance : I have 
an unlucky habit — my misfortunes, and the ex- 
posures to which one is subjected in country 
barns, have obliged me now and then to — to — 
take a drop of something comfortable — and sc 
— and so " 

" What ! you drink ? " cried the agent, eagerly 

I bowed my head in blushing acknowledg 
ment. 

" So much the better ! so much the better ! 
The irreo-ularities of o-enius ! A sober fellow is 
commonplace. The public like an actor that 
drinks. Give me your hand, sir. You 're the 
very man to make a dash with." 

I still hung back with lingering diffidence, de- 
claring myself unworthy of such praise. 

" 'Sblood, man," cried he, " no praise at all. 
You don't imagine / think you a wonder ; I only 
want the public to thuik so. Nothing is so easy 
as to gull the public, if you only set up a prod- 
igy. Common talent anybody can measure by 
common rule ; but a prodigy sets all rule and 
measurement at defiance." 

These words opened my eyes in an instant : 
we now came to a proper understanding, less flat- 
tering, it is true, to my vanity, but much more 
satisfactory to my judgment. 

It was agreed that I should make my ajipear- 
ance before a London audience, as a dramatic 
sun just bursting from behind the clovds : one 
th^t was to banish all the lesser lights and false 
Qres of the stage. Every precaution was to be 
taken to possess the public mind at every avooue 



294 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

The pit was to be packed with sturdy clappers ; 
the newspapers secured by vehement puffers ; 
every theatrical resort to be haunted by hireling 
talkers. In a word, e.\^iiYj engine of theatrical 
humbug was to be put in action. Wherever 1 
differed from former actors, it was to be main- 
tained that I was right and they were wrong 
If I ranted, it was to be pure passion ; if I were 
vulgar, it was to be pronounced a familiar touch 
of nature ; if I made any queer blunder, it was 
to be a new reading. If my voice cracked, or I 
got out in my part, I was only to bounce, and 
grin, and snarl at the audience, and make any 
horrible grimace that came into my head, and my 
admirers were to call it " a great point," and tc 
fall back and shout and yell with rapture. 

" In short," said the gentleman with the quiz- 
zing-glass, " strike out boldly and bravely : no 
matter how or what you do, so that it be but odd 
and strange. If you do but escape pelting the 
first night, your fortune and the fortune of the 
theatre is made." 

I set off for London, therefore, in company 
with the kept author, full of new plans and new 
hopes. I was to be the restorer of Shakspeare 
and Nature, and the legitimate drama ; my very 
swagger was to be heroic, and my cracked voice 
the standard of elocution. Alas, sir, my usual 
luck attended me : before I arrived at the metrop- 
olis a rival wonder had appeared ; a woman who 
could dance the slack rope, and run up a cord 
from the stage to the gallery with fireworks 'all 
round her. She was seized on by the manager 



THE STROLLING MANAGER. 295 

with avidity. Slie was the saving of the great 
national theati-e for the season. Nothing was 
talked of but Madame Saqui's fireworks and 
flesh-colored pantaloons ; and Nature, Shakspeare, 
the legitimate drama, and poor Pillgarlick, were 
completely left in the lurch. 

When Madame Saqui's performance grew stale, 
other wonders succeeded : horses, and harlequin- 
ades, and mummery of all kinds ; until another 
dramatic prodigy was brought forward to play 
the very game for which I had been intended. I 
called upon the kept author for an explanation, 
but he was deeply engaged in writing a melo- 
drama or a pantomime, and was extremely testy 
on being interrupted in his studies. However, 
as the theatre was in some measure pledged to 
provide for me, the manager acted, according to 
the usual phrase, " like a man of honor," and I 
received an appointment in the corps. It had 
been a turn of a die whether I should be Alex- 
ander the Great or Alexander the coppersmith — 
the latter carried it. I could not be put at the 
head of the drama, so I was put at the tail of it. 
In other words, I was enrolled among the num- 
ber of what are called useful men ; those who 
enact soldiers, senators, and Banquo's shadowy 
line. I was perfectly satisfied with my lot ; for 
I have always been a bit of a philosopher. If 
my situation was not splendid, it at least was se- 
cure ; and in fact I have seen half a dozen prod- 
igies appear, dazzle, burst like bubbles, and pass 
away, and yet here I am, snug, unenvied, and un- 
Tiolested, at the foot of the profession. 



206 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

You may smile ; but let me tell you, we " use- 
ful men " are the only comfortable actors on the 
stage. We are safe from hisses, and below the 
hope of applause. We fear not the success of 
rivals, nor dread the critic's pen. So long as wo 
get the words of our parts, and they are not often 
many, it is all we care for. We have our own 
merriment, our own friends, and our own admir- 
ers, — for every actor has his friends and admir- 
ers, from the highest to the lowest. The first- 
rate actor dines with the noble amateur, and en- 
tertains a fashionable table with scraps and songs 
and theatrical slip-slop. The second-rate actors 
have their second-rate friends and admirers, with 
whom they likewise spout tragedy and talk slip- 
slop ; — and so down even to us ; who have our 
friends and admirers among spruce clerks and as- 
piring apprentices — who treat us to a dinner 
now and then, and enjoy at tenth hand the same 
scraps and songs and slip-slop that have been 
served up by our more fortunate brethren at the 
tables of the great. 

I now, for the first time in my theatrical life, 
experience what true pleasure is. I have known 
enough of notoriety to pity the poor devils who 
are called favorites of the public. I would rather 
be a kitten in the arms of a spoiled child, to be 
one moment patted and pampered and the next 
moment thumped over the head with the spoon. I 
smile to see our leading actors fretting themselves 
with envy and jealousy about a trumpery renown, 
questionable in its quality, and uncertain in its 
duration. I laugh, too, though of course in my 



TEE STROLLING MANAGER. 297 

sleeve, at the bastle and importance, and trouble 
and pei'plexities of our manager — who is harass- 
ing himself to death in the hopeless effort to 
please everybody. 

I have found among my fellow-subalterns two 
or three quondam managers, who like myself have 
wielded the sceptres of country theatres, and we 
have many a sly joke together at the expense of 
the manager and the public. Sometimes, too, we 
meet, like deposed and exiled kings, talk over the 
events of our respective reigns, moralize over a 
tankard of ale, and laugh at the humbug of the 
great and little world ; which, I take it, is the es- 
?^nce of practical philosophy. 

Thus end the anecdotes of Buckthorne and 
his friends. It grieves me much that I could not 
procure from him further particulars of his his- 
tory, and especially of that part of it which 
passed in town. He had evidently seen much of 
literary life ; and, as he had never risen to emi 
nence in letters, and yet was free from the gall 
of disappointment, I had hoped to gain some can- 
did intelligence concerning his contemporaries. 
The testimony of such an honest chronicler 
would have been particularly valuable at the pres- 
ent time ; when, owing to the extreme fecundity 
of the press, and the thousand anecdotes, criti- 
cisms, and biographical sketches that are daily 
poured forth concerning public characters, it is 
extremely difficult to get at any truth concerning 
them. 

He was always, however, excessively reserved 



298 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

and fastidious on this point, at which I very much 
wondered, authors in general appearing to think 
each other fair game, and being ready to serve 
each other up for the amusement of the public. 

A few mornings after hearing the history of 
the ex-manager, I was surprised by a visit from 
Buckthorne before I was out of bed. He was 
dressed for travellmg. 

" Give me joy ! give me joy ! " said he, rub- 
bing his hands with the utmost glee, " my great 
expectations are realized ! " 

I gazed at him with a look of wonder and in- 
quiry. 

" My booby cousin is dead ! " cried he ; " may 
he rest in peace ! he nearly broke his neck in a 
fall from his horse in a fox-chase. By good luck, 
he lived long enough to make his will. He has 
made me his heir, partly out of an odd feeling of 
retributive justice, and partly because, as he says, 
none of his own family nor friends know how to 
enjoy such an estate. I 'm off to the country to 
take possession. I 've done with authorship. 
That for the critics ! " said he, snapping his finger. 
" Come down to Doubting Castle, when I get 
settled, and, egad, I '11 give you a rouse." So 
saying, he shook me heartily by the hand, and 
bounded off in high spirits. 

A long time elapsed before I heard from him 
again. Indeed, it was but lately that I received 
a letter, written in the happiest of moods. He 
was getting the estate in fine order ; everything 
went to his wishes ; and what was more, lie was 
married to Sacharissa, who it seems had always 



BUCKTHORNE. 299 



eiitei'tained an ardent though secret attachment 
for him, which he fortunately discovered just 
after coming to his estate. 

" I find," said he, " you are a little given to 
tlie sin of authorship, which I renounce : if the 
anecdotes I have given you of my story arc of 
any interest, you may make use of them ; but 
come down to Doubting Castle, and see how we 
live, and I '11 give you my whole London life over 
a social glass ; and a rattling history it shall be 
about authors and reviewers." 

If ever I visit Doubting Castle and get the 
history he promises, the public shall be sure to 
hear of it. 




PART THIRD. 



THE ITALIAN BANDITTI. 



THE INN AT TERRACINA. 




RACK ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! 
" Here comes the estafette from Na- 
ples," said mine host of the inn at Ter- 
racina ; " bring out the relay." 

The estafette came galloping up the road ac- 
cording to custom, brandishing over his head a 
short-handled whip, with a long, knotted lash, 
every smack of which made a report like a pistol. 
He was a tight, square-set young fellow, in the 
usual uniform : a smart blue coat, ornamented 
with facings and gold lace, but so short behind as 
to reach scarcely below his waistband, and cocked 
up not unlike the tail of a wren ; a cocked hat 
edged with gold lace ; a pair of stiff riding-boots ; 
but, instead of the usual leathern breeches, he 
had a fragment of a pair of drawers, that scarcely 
furnished an apology for modesty to hide behind. 

The estafette galloped up to the door, and 
jumped from his horse. 

" A glass of rosolio, a fresh horse, and a pair 
of breeches," said he, '' and quickly, -per Vamor 
di Dio, I am behind my time, and must be off ! " 

" San Gennaro ! " replied the host ; " why, 
where hast thou left thy garment ? " 

" Among the robbers between this and Fondi." 



304 TALES OF A TItAVELLER. 

" What, rob an estafette ! I never heard of 
such folly. Wliat could they hope to get from 
thee ? " 

" My leather breeches ! " replied the estafette. 
" They were bran new, and shone like gold, and 
hit the fancy of the captain." 

" Well, these fellows grow worse and worse. 
To meddle with an estafette ! and that merely 
for the sake of a pair of leather breeches ! " 

The robbing of the government messenger 
seemed to strike the host with more astonishment 
than any other enormity that had taken place on 
the road ; and, indeed, it was the first time so 
wanton an outrage had been committed ; the rob- 
bers generally taking care not to meddle with any- 
thing belonging to government. 

The estafette was by this time equipped, for 
he had not lost an instant in making his prepara- 
tions while talking. The relay was ready ; the 
rosolio tossed off; he grasped the reins and the 
stirrup. 

" Were there many robbers in the band ? " said 
a handsome, dark young man, stepping forward 
from the door of the inn. 

" As formidable a band as ever I saw," said 
the estafette, springing into the saddle. 

" Are they cruel to travellers ? " said a beau- 
tiful young Venetian lady, who had been hanging 
on the gentleman's arm. 

" Cruel, signoi'a ! " echoed the estafette, giving 
a glance at the lady as he put spurs to his horse. 
" Corpo di Bacco ! They stiletto all the men ; 
and, as to the women " — Crack ! crack ! 



THE INN AT TERRA CI N A. 805 

crack ! crack ! crack ! — The last words were 
drowned in the smacking of the whip, and away 
sralloped the estafette along the road to the Pon- 
tine marshes. 

" Holy Virgin ! " ejaculated the fair Venetian, 
" what will become of us ! " 

The inn of which we are speaking stands just 
outside of the walls of Terracina, under a vast 
precipitous height of rocks, crowned with the ruins 
of the castle of Theodric the Goth. The situa- 
tion of Terracina is remarkable. It is a little, 
ancient, lazy Italian town, on the frontiers of the 
Koman territory. There seems to be an idle 
pause in everything about the place. The Medi- 
terranean spreads before it — that sea without 
flux or reflux. The port is without a sail, ex- 
cepting that once in a while a solitary felucca 
may be seen disgorging its holy cargo of baccala, 
or codfish, the meagre provision for the quare- 
sima, or Lent. The inhabitants are apparently 
a listless, heedless race, as people of soft sunny 
climates are apt to be ; but under this pas- 
sive, indolent exterior are said to lurk danger- 
ous qualities. They are supposed by many to be 
little better than the banditti of the neighboring 
mountains, and indeed to hold a secret corre* 
spondence with them. The solitary watchtowers, 
erected here and there along the coast, speak of 
ph'ates and corsairs that hover about these shores ; 
while the low huts, as stations for soldiers, which 
dot the distant road, as it winds up through an 
olive grove, intimate that in the ascent there is 
danger for the traveller, and facility for the baD- 
20 



806 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

dit. Indeed, it is between this town and Fondi 
that the road to Naples is most infested by ban- 
ditti. It has several windings and solitary places, 
where the robbers are enabled to see the trav- 
eller from a distance, from the brows of hills or 
impending precipices, and to lie in wait for him 
at lonely and difficult passes. 

The Italian robbers are a desperate class of 
men, that have almost formed themselves into an 
order of society. They wear a kind of uniform, 
or rather costume, which openly designates their 
profession. This is probably done to diminish its 
skulking, lawless character, and to give it some- 
thing of a military air in the eyes of the common 
people ; or, perhaps, to catch by outward show 
and finery the fancies of the young men of the 
villages, and thus to gain recruits. Their dresses 
are often very rich and picturesque. They wear 
jackets and breeches of bright colors, sometimes 
gayly embroidered ; their breasts are covered 
with medals and relics ; their hats are broad- 
brimmed, with conical crowns, decorated with 
feathers, of variously-colored ribands ; their hair 
is sometimes gathered in silk nets ; they wear a 
kind of sandal of cloth or leather, bound round 
the legs with thongs, and extremely flexible, to 
enable them to scramble with ease and celerity 
among the mountain precipices ; a broad belt of 
cloth, or a sash of silk net, is stuck full of pistols 
and stilettos ; a carbine is slung at the back ; 
while about them is generally thrown, in a neg- 
ligent manner, a great dingy mantle, which serves 
as a protection in storms, or a bed in their biv- 
ouacs amono- the mountains. 



THE INN AT TERRACINA. 307 

They range over a great extent of wild coun- 
try, along the chain of Apennines, bordering on 
different states ; they know all the difficult passes, 
the short cuts for retreat, and the impracticable 
forests of the mountain summits, where no force 
dare follow them. They are secure of the good- 
will of the inhabitants of those regions, a poor and 
semi-barbarous race, whom they never disturb 
and often em'ich. Indeed, they are considered 
as a sort of illegitimate heroes among the moun- 
tain villages, and in certain frontier towns where 
they dispose of their plunder. Thus counte- 
nanced, and sheltered, and secure in the fastnesses 
of their mountains, the robbers have set the weak 
police of the Italian states at defiance. It is in 
vain that their names and descriptions are posted 
on the doors of country churches, and rewards 
offered for them alive or dead ; the villagers are 
either too much awed by the terrible instances of 
vengeance inflicted by the brigands, or have too 
good an understanding with them to be their be- 
trayers. It is true they are now and then hunted 
and shot down like beasts of prey by the gens- 
d'armes, their heads put in iron cages, and stuck 
upon posts by the roadside, or their limbs hung 
up to blacken in the trees near the places where 
tlujy have committed their atrocities ; but these 
ghastly spectacles only serve to make some dreary 
pass of the road still more dreary, and to dismay 
the traveller, without deterring the bandit. 

At the time that the estafette made his sudden 
appearance almost in cuerpo, as has been men- 
Houed, the audacity of the robbers had risen to 



308 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

an unparalleled height. They had laid viJas un- 
der contribution ; they had sent messages into 
country towns, to tradesmen and rich burghers, 
demanding supplies of money, of clothing, or even 
of luxuries, with menaces of vengeance in case 
of refusal. They had their spies and emissaries 
in every town, village, and inn, along the princi- 
pal ropds, to give them notice of the movements 
and quality of travellers. They had plundered 
carriages, carried people of rank and fortune into 
the mountains, and obliged them to write for 
heavy ransoms, and had committed outrages on 
females who had fallen into their hands. 

Such was briefly the state of the robbers, or 
rather such Avas the account of the rumors preva- 
lent concei'ning them, when the scene took place 
at the iim of Terracina. The dark handsome 
young man and tlie Venetian lady, incidentally 
mentioned, liad arrived early that afternoon in ti 
private carriage drawn by mules, and attended by 
a single servant. They had been recently mar- 
ried, were spending the honey-moon in travelling 
through these delicious countries, and were on 
their way to visit a rich aunt of the bride at 
Naples. 

The lady was young, and tender, and timid. 
The stories she had heard alono^ the road had 
ailed her with apprehension, not more for hei*- 
Belt than for her husband ; for though she had 
been married almost a month, she still loved him 
plraost to idolatry. When she reached Terracina, 
the rumors of the road had increased to an alarm- 
ing roagnitude ; and the sight of two robbers' 



THE INN AT TERR AC IN A. 309 

skulls, grinning in iron cages, on each side of the 
old gateway of the town, brought her to a pause. 
Her husband had tried in vain to reassure her ; 
they had lingered all the afternoon at the inn, un- 
til it wfts too late to think of starting that even- 
ing, and the parting words of the estafette com 
pleted her affright. 

" Let us return to Rome," said she, putting her 
arm within her husband's, and drawing towards 
him as if for protection. — " Let us return to 
Rome, and give up this visit to Naples." 

"And give up the visit to your aunt, too?" 
said the husband. 

" Nay — what is my aunt in comparison with 
your safety ? " said she, looking up tenderly in 
his face. 

There was something in her tone and manner 
that showed she really was thinking more of her 
husband's safety at the moment than of her own ; 
and being so recently married, and a match of 
pure affection, too, it is very possible that she 
was ; at least her husband thought so. Indeed, 
any one who has heard the sweet musical tone of 
a Venetian voice, and the melting tenderness of 
a Venetian phrase, and felt the soft witchery of a 
Venetian eye, would not wonder at the husband's 
believing whatever they professed. He clasped 
the white hand that had been laid within his, put 
his arm round her slender waist, and drawing her 
fondly to his bosom, " This night, at least," said 
he, " we will pass at Terracina." 

Crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! Another 
apparition of the road attracted the attention of 



SIO TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

mine host and his guests. From the direction of 
the Pontine marshes, a carriage, drawn by half a 
dozen horses, came driving at a furious rate ; the 
postilions smacking their whips like mad, as is 
the case when conscious of the greatness or of 
the munificence of their fare. It was a landaulet 
with a servant mounted on the dickey. The 
compact, highly finished, yet proudly simple con- 
struction of the carriage ; the quantity of neat, 
well-arranged trunks and conveniences ; the loads 
of box-coats on the dickey ; the fresh, burly, bluff- 
looking face of the master at the window ; and 
the ruddy, round-headed servant, in close-cropped 
hair, short coat, drab breeches, and long gaiters, 
all proclaimed at once that this was the equipage 
of an Englishman. 

" Horses to Fondi," said the Englishman, as 
the landlord came bowinsj to the carriage-door. 

" Would not his Excellenza alight, and take 
some refreshments ? " 

" No — he did not mean to eat until he got to 
Fondi." 

" But the horses will be some time in getting 
ready." 

" Ah ! that 's always the way ; nothing but 
delay in this cursed country ! " 

" If his Excellenza would only walk into the 
house " 

" No, no, no ! — I tell you no ! — I want 
nothing but horses, and as quick as possible. 
John, see that the horses are got ready, and don't 
tet us be kept here an hour or two. Tell him if 
we 're delayed over the time, I'll lodge a com- 
plaint with the postmaster." 



THE INN AT TERRACINA. 811 

John touched his hat, and set off to obey hia 
master's orders with the taciturn obedience of an 
EngHsh servant. 

In the mean time the EngHshman got out of the 
carriage, and walked up and down before the inn, 
with his hands in his pockets, taking no notice of 
the crowd of idlers who were gazmg at him and 
his equipage. He was tall, stout, and well made ; 
dressed with neatness and precision ; wore a trav- 
elling cap of the color of gingerbread ; and had 
rather an unhappy expression about the corners 
of his mouth : partly from not having yet made 
his dinner, and partly from not having been able 
to get on at a greater rate than seven miles an 
hour. Not that he had any other cause for haste 
than an Englishman's usual hurry to get to the 
end of a journey ; or, to use the regular phrase, 
" to get on." Perhaps, too, he was a little sore 
from having been fleeced at every stage. 

After some time, the servant returned from the 
stable with a look of some perplexity. 

" Are the horses ready, John ? " 

" No, sir — I never saw such a place. There 's 
no getting anything done. I think your honor 
had better step into the house and get something 
to eat ; it will be a long while before we get to 
Fundy." 

" D — n the house -^— it 's a mere trick — I '11 
not eat anything, just to spite them," said the 
Englishman, still more crusty at the prospect of 
being so long without his dinner. 

" They say your honor 's very wrong," said 
John, " to set off at this late hour. The road 's 
full of highwaymen." 



812 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

" Mere tales to get custom." 

" The estafette which passed us was stopped by 
a whole gang," said John, increasing his emphasis 
with each additional piece of information. 

" I don't believe a word of it." 

" They robbed him of his breeches," said John, 
giving at the same time a hitch to his own waist- 
band. 

" All humbug ! " 

Here the dark handsome young man stepped 
forward, and addressing the Englishman very po- 
litely, in broken English, invited him to partake 
of a repast he was about to make. 

" Thank'ee," said the Englishman, thrusting his 
hands deeper into his pockets, and casting a slight 
side-glance of suspicion at the young man, as if 
he thought, from his civility, he must have a de- 
sign upon his purse. 

" We shall be most happy, if you will do us 
the favor," said the lady, in her soft Venetian di- 
alect. There was a sweetness in her accents that 
was most persuasive. The Englishman cast a 
look upon her countenance ; her beauty was still 
more eloquent. His features instantly relaxed. 
Pie made a polite bow. " With great pleasure, 
Signora," said he. 

In short, the eagerness to " get on " was sud- 
denly slackened ; the determination to famish him- 
self as far as Fondi, by way of punishing the land- 
lord, was abandoned ; John chose an apartment 
in the inn for his master's reception ; and prepa- 
rations were made to remain there until morning. 

The carriage was unpacked of such of its con- 



THE INN AT TERRACINA. 313 

tents as were indispensable for the night. There 
was the usual parade of trunks and writing-desks, 
and portfoHos and dressing-boxes, and those other 
oppressive conveniences which burden a comfort- 
able man. The observant loiterers about the inn- 
door, wrapped up in great dirt-colored cloaks, with 
only a hawk's-eye uncovered, made many remarks 
to each other on this quantity of luggage thai, 
seemed enough for an army. The domestics of 
the inn talked with wonder of the splendid dress- 
ing-case, with its gold and silver furniture, that 
was spread out on the toilet-table, and the bag 
of gold that chinked as it was taken out of 
the trunk. The strange Milors wealth, and the 
treasures he carried about him, were the talk, 
that evening, over all Terracina. 

The Englishman took some time to make his 
ablutions and arrange his dress for ta'^le ; and, 
after considerable labor and effort in puttmg him- 
self at his ease, made his appearance, with stiff 
white cravat, his clothes free from the least speck 
of dust, and adjusted with precision. He made 
a civil bow on entering in the unprofessing Eng- 
lish way, which the fair Venetian, accustomed 
to the complimentary salutations of the Continent, 
considered extremely cold. 

The supper, as it was termed by the Italian, 
or diimer, as the Englishman called it, was now 
served : heaven and earth, and the waters under 
the earth, had been moved to furnish it ; for 
there were birds of the air, and beasts of the 
field, and fish of the sea. The Englishman's 
servant, too, had turned the kitchen topsy-turvy 



314 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

in his zeal to cook his master a beefsteak ; aud 
made his appearance, loaded with ketchup, and 
soy, and Cayenne pepper, and Harvey sauce, and 
a bottle of port wine, from that warehouse, the 
carriage, in which his master seemed desirous of 
carrying England about the world with him. In- 
deed the repast was one of those Italian farragoes 
which require a little qualifying. The tureen of 
soup was a black sea, wdth livers, and limbs, and 
fragments of all kinds of birds, and* beasts floating 
like wrecks about it. A meagre-winged animal, 
which my host called a delicate chicken, had evi- 
dently died of a consumption. The macaroni 
was smoked. The beefsteak was tough buffalo's 
flesh. There was what appeared to be a dish of 
stewed eels, of which the Englishman ate with 
great relish ; but had nearly refunded them when 
told that they were vipers, caught among the 
rocks of Terracina, and esteemed a great deli- 
cacy. 

Nothing, however, conquers a traveller's spleen 
sooner than eating, whatever may be the cook- 
ery ; and nothing brings him into good-humor 
with his company sooner than eating together ; 
the Englishman, therefore, had not half finished 
his repast and his bottle, before he began to 
think the Venetian a very tolerable fellow for a 
foreio-ner, and his wife almost handsome enough 
to be an Englishwoman. 

In the course of the repast, the usual topics 
of travellers were discussed, and among others, 
the reports of robbers, wliich harassed the mind 
of the fair Venetian. The landlord and waiter 



THE INN AT TERRACINA. 315 

dipped into the conversation with that familiar- 
ity permitted on the Continent, and served up so 
many bloody tales as they served up the dishes, 
that they almost frightened away the poor lady's 
appetite. The Englishman, who had a national 
antipathy to everything technically called " hum- 
bug," listened to them all with a certain screw of 
the mouth, expressive of incredulity. There was 
the well-known story of the school of Terracina, 
captured by the robbers ; and one of the schol- 
ars cruelly massacred, in order to bring the par- 
ents to terms for the ransom of the rest. And 
another, of a gentleman of Rome, who received 
his son's ear in a letter, with information, that 
his son would be remitted to him in this way, 
by instalments, until he paid the required ransom. 

The fair Venetian shuddered as she heard 
these tales ; and the landlord, like a true nar- 
rator of the terrible, doubled the dose when he 
saw how it operated. He was just proceeding 
to relate the misfortunes of a great English lord 
and his family, when the Englishman, tired of 
his volubility, interrupted him, and pronounced 
these accounts to be mere travellers' tales, or 
the exaggerations of ignorant peasants, and de- 
signing innkeepers. The landlord was indignant 
at the doubt levelled at his stories, and the innu- 
endo levelled at his cloth ; he cited, in corrobora- 
tion, half a dozen tales still more terrible. 

"I don't believe a word of them," said the 
Englishman. 

" But the robbers have been tried and exe» 
juted ! " 



316 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

« All a farce ! " 

" But their heads are stuck up along the 
road ! " 

" Old skulls accumulated during a century." 

The landlord muttered to himself as he went 
out at the door, "San Gennaro ! quanto sono 
singolari questi Inglesi ! " 

A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced 
the arrival of more travellers ; and, from the 
variety of voices, or rather of clamors, the clat- 
tering of hoofs, the rattling of wheels, and the 
general uproar both within and without, the ar- 
rival seemed to be numerous. 

It was, in fact, the procaccio and its convoy : 
a kind of caravan which sets out on certain days 
for the transportation of merchandise, with an 
escort of soldiery to protect it from the robbers. 
Travellers avail themselves of its protection, and 
a long file of carriages generally accompany it. 

A considerable time elapsed before either land- 
lord or waiter returned ; being hurried hither 
and thither by that tempest of noise and bustle, 
which takes place in an Italian inn on the arrival 
of any considerable accession of custom. When 
mine host reappeared, there was a smile of tri- 
umph on his countenance. 

" Perhaps," said he, as he cleared the table ; 
" perhaps the signor has not heard of what has 
happened ? " 

" ^VTiat ? " said the Englishman, dryly. 

" Why, the procaccio has brought accounts of 
fresh exploits of the robbers." 

« Pish ! " 



THE l^N AT TERRACINA. 317 

" There 's more newvS of the English Milor and 
his family," said the host, cxultingly. 

"An English lord? What English lord ? " 

"Milor Popkin." 

" Lord Popkins ? I never heard of such a 
title ! " 

" O ! sicuro a great nobleman, who passed 
through here lately with mi ladi and her daugh- 
ters. A magnilico, one of the grand counsellors 
of London, an almanno ! " 

" Almanno — almanno ? — tut — he means al- 
derman." 

" Sicuro — Aldermanno Popkin, and the Prin- 
cipessa Popkin, and the Signorine Popkin ? " 
said mine host, triumphantly. 

He now put himself into an attitude, and 
would have launched into a full detail, had he 
not been thwarted by the Englishman, who 
seemed determined neither to credit nor indulge 
him in his stories, but dryly motioned for him to 
clear away the table. 

An Italian tongue, however, is not easily 
checked ; that of mine host continued to wag 
with increasing volubility, as he conveyed the 
relics of the repast out of the room ; and the last 
that could be distinguished of his voice, as it died 
away along the corridor, was the iteration of the 
favorite word, Popkin — Popkin — Popkhi — 
pop — pop — pop. 

The arrival of the procaccio had, indeed, filled 
the house with stories, as it had with guests. The 
Englishman and his companions walked aftei 
supper up and down the large hall, or common 



318 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

room of the inn, which ran through the centre 
of the buildmg. It was spacious and somewhat 
dirty, with tables placed in various parts, at 
which groups of travellers were seated ; while 
others strolled about, waiting, in famished im]ia- 
ticnce, for their evening's meal. 

It was a heterogeneous assemblage of people 
of all ranks and countries, who had arrived iti all 
kinds of vehicles. Though distinct knots of trav- 
ellers, yet the travelling together, under one com- 
mon escort, had jumbled them into a certain de- 
gree of companionship on the road ; besides, on 
the Continent travellers are always familiar, and 
nothing is more motley than the groups which 
gather casually together in sociable conversation 
in the public rooms of inns. 

The formidable number, and formidable guard 
of the procaccio had prevented any molestation 
from banditti ; but every party of travellers had 
its tale of wonder, and one carriage vied witli 
another in its budget of assertions and surmises. 
Fierce, whiskered faces had been seen peering 
over the rocks ; carbines and stilettos gleaming 
from among the bushes ; suspicious-looking fel- 
lows, with flapped hats, and scowling eyes, had 
occasionally reconnoitred a straggling carriage, 
but had disappeared on seeing the guard. 

The fair Venetian listened to all these stories 
with that avidity with wliieii we always pamper 
any feeling of alarm ; even the Englishman began 
to feel interested in the common topic, desirous 
of getting more correct information than mere 
flying reports. Conquering, tlierei()i'e, that shy 



THE INN AT TERRACINA. 319 

ness wliich is prone to keep an Englishman soli 
tary in crowds, he approached one of the talking 
groups, the oracle of wliich was a tall, thin Ital- 
ian, mth long aquiline nose, a high forehead, and 
lively prominent eye, beaming from under a gi'een 
velvet travelling-cap, with gold tassel. He was 
of Rome, a surgeon by profession, a poet by 
choice, and something of an improvisatore. 

In the present instance, however, he was talk- 
ing in plain prose, but holding forth with the flu- 
ency of one who talks well, and likes to exert his 
talent. A question or two from the Englishman 
drew copious replies ; for an Englishman sociable 
among strangers is regarded as a phenomenon on 
the Continent, and always treated with attention 
for the rarity's sake. The improvisatore gave 
much the same account of the banditti that I 
have already furnished. 

" But why does not the police exert itself, and 
root them out ? " demanded the Englishman. 

" Because the police is too weak, and the ban- 
ditti are too strong," replied the other. " To root 
them out would be a more difficult task than you 
imagine. They are connected and almost iden- 
tified with the mountain peasantry and the peo- 
ple of the villages. The numerous bands have 
an understanding with each other, and with the 
country round. A gendarme cannot stir without 
their being aware of it. They have their scouts 
everywhere, who lurk about towns, villages, and 
mns, mingle in every crowd, and pervade every 
place of resort. I should not be surprised if some 
one should be supervising us at this moment.'" 



320 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

The fair Yenetiitii looked round fearfully, and 
turned pale. 

Here the improvisatore was interrupted by a 
liv-^ely Neapolitan lawyer. 

" By the way," said he, " I recollect a little 
adventure of a learned doctor, a friend of mine, 
which happened in this very neighborhood ; not 
far from the ruins of Theodric's Castle, which are 
on the top of those great rocky heights above the 
town." 

A wish was, of course, expressed to hear the 
adventure of the doctor, by all excepting the im- 
provisatore, who, being fond of talking and of 
hearing himself talk, and accustomed, moreover, 
to harangue without interruption, looked rather 
annoyed at being checked when in full career. 
The Neapolitan, however, took no notice of his 
chagrin, but related the following anecdote. 





ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 




Y friend, the Doctor, was a thorough 
antiquary ; a little rusty, musty old fel- 
|] low, always groping among ruins. He 
relished a building as you Englishmen relish a 
cheese, — the more mouldy and crumbling it was, 
the more it suited his taste. A shell of an old 
nameless temple, or the cracked walls of a bro- 
ken-down amphitheatre, would throw him into 
raptures ; and he took more delight in these crusts 
and cheese-parings of antiquity than in the best- 
conditioned modern palaces. 

He was a curious collector of coins also, and 
had just gained an accession of wealth that almost 
turned his brain. He had picked up, for instance, 
several Roman Consulars, half a Roman As, two 
Funics, which had doubtless belonged to the sol- 
diers of Hannibal, having been found on the very 
spot where they had encamped among the Apen- 
nines. He had, moreover, one Samnite, struck 
after the Social War, and a Philistis, a queen that 
never existed ; but above aH, he valued himself 
upon a coin, indescribable to any but the initiated 
in these matters, bearing a cross on one side, and 
a pegasus on the other, and which, by some an- 
tiquarian logic, the little man adduced as an 
21 



322 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

historical document, illustrating the progress of 
Christianity. 

All tlxcse precious coins he carried about hinj 
in a leathern purse, buried deep in a pocket of 
his little black breeches. 

The last maggot he had taken into his br?.In, 
was to hunt after the ancient cities of the Pelasgi, 
which are said to exist to this day among the 
mountains of the Abruzzi ; but about which a 
singular degree of obscurity prevails.* He had 

* Among the many fond speculations of antiquaries is that 
of the existence of traces of the ancient Pelasgian cities in the 
Apennines; and many a wistful eye is cast by the traveller, 
versed in antiquarian lore, at the richly wooded mountains of 
the Abruzzi, as a forbidden fairy land of research. These 
spots, so beautifid, yet so inaccessible, from the rudeness of 
their inhabitants and the hordes of banditti which infest them, 
are a region of fable to the learned. Sometimes a wealthy 
virtuoso, whose purse and whose consequence could command 
a military escort, has penetrated to some individual point 
among the mountains ; and sometimes a wandering artist oi 
student, under protection of poverty or insignificance, has 
brought away some vague account, only calculated to give a 
keener edge to curiosity and conjecture. 

By those who maintain the existence of the Pelasgian cities, 
it is affirmed that the formation of the different kingdoms in 
the Peloponnesus gradually caused the expulsion thence of the 
Pelasgi; but that their great migration may be dated from 
the finishing the wall around Acropolis, and that at this 
period they came to Italy. To these, in the spiiit of theory, 
they would ascribe the introduction of the elegant arts into 
the country. It is evident, however, that, as barbarians fly- 
ing before the first dawn of civilization, they could bring 
iittle with them superior to the inventions of the aborigines, 
end nothing that would have survived to the antiquarian 
through such a lape e of ages. It would appear more prob- 



THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 323 

made many discoveries concerning them, and had 
recorded a great many valuable notes fjid mem- 
orandums on the subject, in a volumirous book, 
which he always carried about with him ; either 
for the purpose of frequent reference, or through 
fear lest the precious document should fall into 
llie hands of brother antiquaries. He had, there- 
fore, a large pocket in the skirt of his coat, where 
he bore about this inestimable tome, banging 
against his rear as he walked. 

Thus heavily laden with the spoils of antiquity, 
the good little man, during a sojourn at Terra- 
cina, mounted one day the rocky cliffs which 
overhang the town, to visit the castle of Theodric. 
He was groping about the ruins towards the hour 
of sunset, buried in his reflections, his wits no 
doubt wool-ffatherino^ amono^ the Goths and Ro- 
mans, when he heard footsteps behind him. 

He turned, and beheld five or six young fel- 
lows, of rough, saucy demeanor, clad m a singu- 

able, that these cities, improperly termed Pelasgian, were 
coeval with many that have been discovered. The romantic 
Aricia, built by Hippolytus before the siege of Troy, and the 
poetic Tibur, Osculate and Proenes, built by Telegonus after 
the dispersion of the Greeks; — these, lying contiguous to 
mhabited and cultivated spots, have been discovered. There 
are others, too, on the ruins of which the latter and more 
civilized Grecian colonists have ingrafted themselves, and 
which have become known by their merits or their medals. 
But that there are many still undiscovered, imbedded in 
the Abruzzi, it is the delight of the- antiquarians to fancy. 
Strange that such a virgin soil for research, such an unknown 
realm of knowledge, should at this day remain in the very 
sentre of hackneyed Italy ! 



324 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

lar manner, half peasant, half huntsman, with car* 
bines in their hands. Their whole appearance 
and carriage left him no doubt into what com- 
pany he had fallen. 

The Doctor was a feeble little man, poor ii^ 
look, and poorer in purse. He had but little 
gold or silver to be robbed of; but then he had 
his curious ancient coin in his breeches-pocket. 
He had, moreover, certain other valuables, such 
as an old silver watch, thick as a turnip, with fig- 
ures on it large enough for a clock ; and a set of 
seals at the end of a steel chain, dangling half- 
way down to his knees. All these were of pre- 
cious esteera, being family relics. He had also a 
seal ring, .* veritable antique intaglio, that covered 
half his knuckles. It was a Venus, which the 
old man almost worshipped with the zeal of a 
voluptuary. But what he most valued was his 
inestimable collection of hints relative to the Pe- 
lasgian cities, which he would gladly have given 
all the money in his pocket to have had safe at 
the bottom of his trunk in Terracina. 

However, he plucked up a stout heart, at least 
as stout a heart as he could, seeing that he 
was but a puny little man at the best of times. 
So he wished the hunters a " buon giorno." 
They returned his salutation, giving the old gen- 
tleman a sociable slap on the back that made his 
heart leap into his throat. 

They fell into conversation, and walked for 
Bome time together among the heights, the Doc- 
tor wishing them all the while at the bottom of 
the crater of Vesuvius At length they came to 



THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 325 

a small osterla on the mountain, where they pro- 
posed to enter and have a cup of wine together : 
the Doctor consented, though he would as soon 
have been invited to drink hemlock. 

One of the gang remained sentinel at the door ; 
the others swaggered into the house, stood their 
guns in the corner of the room, and each draw- 
ing a pistol or stiletto out of his belt, laid it up- 
on the table. They now drew benches round 
the board, called lustily for wine, and, hailing the 
Doctor as though he had been a boon companion 
of long standing, insisted upon his sitting down 
and making merry. 

The worthy man complied with forced grimace, 
but with fear and trembling; sitting uneasily on 
the edge of his chair ; eying ruefully the black- 
muzzled pistols, and cold, naked stilettos ; and 
supping down heai'tburn with every drop of 
liquor. His new comrades, however, pushed the 
bottle bravely, and pHed him vigorously. They 
sang, they laughed ; told excellent stories of their 
robberies and combats, mingled with many ruffian 
jokes ; and the little Doctor was fain to laugh at 
all their cut-throat pleasantries, though his heart 
was dying away at the very bottom of f lis bosom. 

By their own account, they were young 
men from the villages, who had recently taken 
up this line of life out of the wild caprice of 
youth. They talked of their murderous exploits 
as a sportsman talks of his amusements : to shoot 
doTVTi a traveller seemed of little more conse- 
quence to them than to shoot a hare. They 
^poke with rapture of the glorious roving life 



326 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

they led, free as birds ; here to-day, gone to-mor- 
row ; ranging the forests, climbing the rocks, 
scouring the valleys ; the world their own wher- 
ever they could lay hold of it ; full purses — 
merry companions — pretty women. The little 
antiquary got fuddled with their talk and theii 
wine, for they did not spare bumpers. He half 
forgot his fears, his seal-ring, and his family 
watch ; even the treatise on the Pelasgian cities, 
which was warming under him, for a time faded 
from his memory in the glowing picture that they 
drew. He declares that he no longer wonders 
at the prevalence of this robber mania among the 
mountains ; for he felt at the time, that, had he 
been a young man, and a strong man, and had 
there been no danger of the galleys in the back- 
ground, he should have been half tempted him- 
self to turn bandit. 

At length the hour of separating arrived. The 
Doctor was suddenly called to himself and his 
fears by seeing the robbers resume their weap- 
ons. He now quaked for his valuables, and, 
above all, for his antiquarian treatise. He en- 
deavored, however, to look cool and unconcerned ; 
and drew from out his deep pocket a long, lank, 
leathern purse, far gone in consumption, at the 
bottom of which a few coin chinked with the 
trembling of his hand. 

The chief of the party observed his movement, 
and laying his hand upon tbe antiquary's shoul- 
der, " Harkee ! Signor Dottore ! " said he, " we 
nave drunk together as friends and comrades ; 
let us par<" as such. We understand you. We 



THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 327 

know who and what you are, for we know who 
everybody is that sleeps at Terracina, or that 
puts foot upon the road. You are a rich man, 
but you carry all your wealth in your head : we 
cannot get at it, and we should not know what 
to do with it if we could. I see you are uneasy 
about your ring ; but don't worry yourself, it is 
not worth taking ; you think it an antique, but 
it 's a counterfeit — a mere sham." 

Here the ire of the antiquary rose : the Doc- 
tor forgot himself in his zeal for the character of 
his ring. Heaven and earth ! his Venus a sham . 
Had they pronounced the wife of his bosom " no 
better than she should be," he could not have 
been more indignant. He fired up in vindication 
of his intaglio. 

" Nay, nay," continued the robber, " we have 
no time to dispute about it ; value it as you please. 
Come, you 're a brave little old signor — one 
more cup of wine, and we '11 pay the reckoning. 
No compliments — you shall not pay a grain — 
you are our guest — I insist upon it. So — now 
make the best of your way back to Terracina ; 
it 's growing late. Buono viaggio ! And harkee ! 
take care how you wander among these moun- 
tains, — you may not always fall into such good 
company." 

They shouldered their guns ; sprang gayly up 
the rocks ; and the little Doctor hobbled back to 
Terracina, rejoicing that the robbers had left his 
watch, his coins, and his treatise, unmolested : but 
still indignant that tliey should have pronounced 
his Venus an impostor. 



328 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 

The improvisatore had shown many symptoms 
of impatience during this recital. He saw his 
theme in danger of being taken out of liis hands 
which to an able talker is always a grievance, but 
to an improvisatore is an absolute calamity : and 
then for it to be taken away by a Neapolitan was 
still more vexatious ; the inhabitants of the dif- 
ferent Italian states having an implacable jealousy 
of each other in all things, great and small. He 
took advantage of the first pause of the Neapoli- 
tan to catch hold again of the thread of the con- 
versation. 

" As I observed before," said he, " the prowl- 
ings of the banditti are so extensive ; they are 
so much in league with one another, and so inter 
woven with various ranks of society " 

" For that matter," said the Neapolitan, " I 
have heard that your government has had some 
understanding with those gentry ; or, at least, 
has winked at their misdeeds." 

" My government ? " said the Roman, impa- 
tiently. 

" Ay, they say that Cardinal Gonsalvi " — 

" Hush ! " said the Roman, holding up his fin- 
ger, and rolling his large eyes about the room. 

" Nay, I only repeat what I heard commonly 
rumored in Rome," replied the Neapolitan, stur- 
dily. " It was openly said, that the Cardinal had 
been up to the mountains, and had an interview 
with some of the chiefs. And I have been told, 
moreover, that, while honest people have been 
kicking their heels in the Cardinal's antechamber, 
waiting by the houv for admittance, one of those 



THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 329 

stiletto - looking fellows 1ms elbowed his way 
through the crowd, and entered without ceremony 
into the Cardinal's presence." 

" I know," observed the improvisatore, " that 
there have been such reports, and it is not impos- 
sible that government may have made use of these 
men at particular periods : such as at the time of 
your late abortive revolution, when your carbo- 
nari were so busy with their machinations all over 
the country. The information which such men 
could collect, who were familiar, not merely with 
the recesses and secret places of the mountains, 
but also with the dark and dangerous recesses of 
society ; who knew every suspicious character, 
and all his movements and all his lurkings ; in a 
word, who knew all that was plotting in a world 
of mischief ; — the utility of such men as instru- 
ments in the hands of government was too obvi- 
ous to be overlooked ; and Cardinal Gonsalvi, as 
a politic statesman, may, perhaps, have made use 
of them. Besides, he knew that, with all their 
atrocities, the robbers were always respectful to- 
wai'ds the Church, and devout in their religion." 

" Religion ! religion ! " echoed the Englishman. 

" Yes, religion," repeated the Roman. " They 
have each their patron saint. They will cross 
tliemselves and say their prayers, whenever, in 
their mountain haunts, they hear the matin or the 
Ave-Maria bells sounding from the valleys ; and 
,will often desceud from their retreats, and run 
imminent risks to visit some favorite shrine. I 
recollect an instance in point. 

"I was one evenino- in the village of Frascati, 



330 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

which stands on the beautiful brow of a hill ris- 
ing from the Carapagna, just below the Abruzzi 
Mountains. The people, as is usual in fine even- 
ings in our Italian towns and villages, were rec- 
reating tliemselves in the open air, and chatting 
in groups in the public square. While I was 
conversing with a knot of friends, I noticed a tall 
fellow, wrapped in a great mantle, passing across 
the square, but skulking along in the dusk, as if 
anxious to avoid observation. The people drew 
back as he passed. It was whispered to me that 
he was a notorious bandit." 

" But why was he not immediately seized ? " 
said the Englishman. . •* 

" Because it was nobody's business ; because 
nobody wished to incur the vengeance of his com- 
rades ; because there were not sufficient gen- 
darmes near to insure security against the number 
of desperadoes he might have at hand ; because 
the gendarmes might not have received particular 
instructions with respect to him, and might not 
feel disposed to engage in a hazardous conflict 
without compulsion. In short, I might give you 
a thousand reasons rising out of the state of our 
government and manners, not one of which after 
all might appear satisfactory." 

The Eno;lishman shruo-ged his shoulders with 
an air of contempt. 

" I have been told," added the Roman, rather 
quickly, "that even in your metropolis of Lon- 
don, notorious thieves, well known to the police 
fts such, walk the streets at noonday in search of 
their prey^ and are not molested unless caught Ie 
the very act of robbery." 



THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 331 

The Englishra.an gave another shrug, bui ^^'ith 
a ditferent expression. 

" Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring 
wolf, thus prowling through the fold, and saw him 
enter a church. I was curious to witness his 
devotion. You know our spacious magnificent 
churches. The one in which he entered was vast, 
and shrouded in the dusk of evening. At the ex- 
tremity of the long aisles a couple of tapers fee- 
bly glimmered on the grand altar. In one of the 
side chapels was a votive candle placed before the 
image of a saint. Before this image the robber 
had prostrated himself. His mantle partly falling 
off from his shoulders as he knelt, revealed a 
form of Herculean strength ; a stiletto and pis- 
tol glittered in his belt ; and the light falling on 
his countenance, showed features not unhand- 
some, but strongly and fiercely characterized. 
As he prayed, he became vehemently agitated ; 
his lips quivered ; sighs and murmurs, almost 
groans, burst from him ; he beat his breast with 
violence ; then clasped his hands and wrung them 
convulsively, as he extended them towards the 
image. Never had I seen such a terrific picture 
of remorse. I felt fearful of being discovered 
watching him, and withdrew. Shortly afterwards 
I saw him issue from the church wrapped in his 
mantle. He recrossed the square, and no doubt 
returned to the mountains with a disburdened con- 
.8cienc(3, ready to incur a fresh arrear of crime." 

Here the Neapolitan was about to get hold of 
the conversation, and had just preluded with the 
ominous remark, " That puts me in mind of a 



332 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

circumstance," when the improvisatore, too adroit 
to suffer himself to be again superseded, went on, 
pretending not to hear the interruption. 

" Among the many circumstances connected 
with the banditti, which serve to render the trav- 
eller uneasy and insecure, is the understanding 
which they sometimes have with inn-keepers. 
Many an isolated inn among the lonely parts of 
the Roman territories, and especially about the 
mountains, are of a dangerous and perfidious 
character. They are places where the banditti 
gather information, and where the unwary trav- 
eller, remote from hearing or assistance, is be- 
trayed to the midnight dagger. The robberies 
committed at such inns are often accompanied by 
the most atrocious murders ; for it is only by the 
complete extermination of their victims that the 
assassins can escape detection. I recollect an ad- 
venture,"^ added he, " which occurred at one of 
these solitary mountain inns, which, as you all 
seem in a mood for robber anecdotes, may not be 
uninteresting." 

Havins: secured the attention and awakened the 
curiosity of the by-standers, he paused for a mo* 
ment, rolled up his large eyes as improvisatori arc 
apt to do when they would recollect an impromptu, 
and then related with great dramatic effect the 
following story, which had, doubtless, been well 
prepared and digested beforehand. 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 




T was late one evening that a carriage, 
drawn by mules, slowlj toiled its way 
up one of the passes of the Apennines. 
It was through one of the wildest defiles, where a 
hamlet occurred only at distant intervals, perched 
on the summit of some rocky height, or the white 
towers of a convent peeped out from among the 
thick mountain foliage. The carriage was of 
ancient and ponderous construction. Its faded 
embellishments spoke of former splendor, but its 
crazy springs and axle-trees creaked out the tale 
of present decline. Within was seated a tall, 
thin old gentleman, in a kind of military travel- 
ling-dress, and a foraging-cap trimmed with fur, 
though the gray locks which stole from under it 
hinted that his fighting days were over. Beside 
lum was a pale, beautiful girl of eighteen, dressed 
in something of a northern or Polish costume. 
( )ne servant was seated in front, a rusty, crusty 
looking fellow, with a scar across his face, an 
orange-tawny schnurhart or pair of moustaches, 
bristling from under his nose, and altogether the 
air of an old soldier. 

It was, in fact, tlie cquipjige of a Polish noble- 



334 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

man; a wreck of one of those princely families 
once of almost oriental magnificence, but broken 
down and impoverished by the disasters of Po- 
land. The Count, like many other generous 
spirits, had been found guilty of the crime of pat- 
liotism, and was, in a manner, an exile from his 
country. He had resided for some time in the 
fi.rst cities of Italy, for the education of liis 
daughter, in whom all his cares and pleasures 
were now centred. He had taken her into so- 
ciety, where her beauty and her accomplishments 
gained her many admirers ; and had she not been 
the daughter of a poor broken-down Polish noble- 
man, it is more than probable many would have 
contended for her hand. Suddenly, however, her 
health became delicate and drooping ; her gayety 
fled with the roses of her cheek, and she sank 
into silence and debility. The old Count saw 
the change with the solicitude of a parent. " We 
must try a change of an- and scene," said he ; and 
in a few days the old family carriage was rum- 
bling among the Apennmes. 

Their only attendant was the veteran Caspar, 
who had been born in the family, and grown 
rusty in its service. He had followed his master 
in all his fortunes ; had fought by his side ; had 
stood over him when fallen in battle ; and had 
received, in his defence, the sabre-cut which added 
such grimness to his countenance. He was now 
his valet, his steward, his butler, his factotum. 
The only being that rivalled his master in his 
affections was his youthful mistress. She had 
grown up inder his eye, he had led her by the 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 335 

hand when she was a child, and he now looked 
upon her with the fondness of a parent. Nay, 
he even took the freedom of a parent in giving 
his blunt opinion on all matters which he vhouglit 
were for her good ; and felt a parent's vanit}' at 
seeing her gazed at and admired. 

The evening was thickening ; they had been 
for some time passing through narrow gorges of 
the mountains, along the edges of a tumbling 
stream. The scenery was lonely and savage. 
The rocks often beetled over the road, with flocks 
of white goats browsing on their brinks, and 
gazing down upon the travellers. They had be-* 
tween two or three leagues yet to go before they 
could reach any village ; yet the muleteer, Pietro, 
a tippling old fellow, who had refreshed himself 
at the last halting-place with a more than ordi- 
nary quantity of wine, sat singing and talking 
alternately to his mules, and suffering them to 
lag on at a snail's pace, in spite of the frequent 
entreaties of the Count and maledictions of 
Caspar. _ 

The clouds began to roll in heavy masses 
along the mountains, shrouding their summits 
from view. The air was damp and chilly. The 
Count's solicitude on his daughter's account over- 
came his usual patience. He leaned from the 
carriage, and called to old Pietro in an angry 
tone. 

^' Forward ! " said he. " It will be midnight 
before we arrive at our inn." 

" Yonder it is, Signor," said the muleteer. 

" Where ? '' demar ded the Count. 



330 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

"Yonder," said Pietro, pointing to a desolate 
pile about a quarter of a league distant. 

" That the place ? — why, it looks more like a 
ruin than an inn. I thought we were to put up 
for the night at a comfortable viUage." 

Here Pietro uttered a string of piteous ex- 
clamations and ejaculations, such as are ever ;il 
the tip of the tongue of a delinquent muleteer. 
" Such roads ! and such mountains ! and then his 
poor animals were way-worn, and leg-weary ; 
they would fall lame ; they would never be able 
to reach the village. And then what could his 
Excellenza wish for better than the inn ; a per- 
fect castella — a palazza — and such people ! — 
and such a larder ! — and such beds ! — His Ex- 
cellenza might fare as sumptuously, and sleep as 
soundly there as a prince I " 

The Count was easily persuaded, for he was 
anxious to get his daughter out of the night air ; 
so in a little while the old carriage rattled and 
jingled into the great gateway of the inn. 

The building did certainly in some measure 
answer to the muleteer's description. It was 
large enough for either castle or palace ; built in 
a strong, but simple and almost rude style ; with 
a great quantity of waste room. It had in fact 
been, in former times, a hunting-seat of one of 
the Italian princes. There was space enough 
within its walls and out-buildings to have accom- 
modated a little army. A scanty household 
seemed now to people this dreary mansion. The 
laces that presented themselves on the arrival 
of the travellers were begrimed with dirt, and 



THE BELAIED TRAVELLERS. 387 

loowling in their expression. They all knew old 
Pietro, however, and gave him a welcome as he 
entered, singing and talking, and almost whoop- 
uig, into the gateway. 

The hostess of the inn waited, herself, on tlie 
Count and his daughter, to show them the apart- 
ments. They were conducted through a long 
gloomy corridor, and then through a suite of 
chambers opening into each other, with lofty 
ceilings, and great beams extending across them. 
Everything, however, had a wretched, squalid 
look. The walls were damp and bare, excepting 
that here and there hung some great painting, 
large enough for a chapel, and blackened out of 
all distinction. 

They chose two bedrooms, one within another ; 
the inner one for the daughter. The bedsteads 
were massive and misshapen; but on examining 
the beds so vaunted by old Pietro, they found 
them stuffed with fibres of hemp knotted in great 
lumps. The Count shrugged his shoulders, but 
there was no choice left. 

The chilliness of the apartments crept to their 
bones ; and they were glad to return to a 
common chamber or kind of hall, where was a 
fire burning in a huge cavern, miscalled a chim- 
ney. A quantity of green wood, just thrown on, 
puffed out volumes of smoke. The room cor- 
responded to the rest of the mansion. The floor 
was paved and dirty. A great oaken table stood 
in the centre, immovable from its size and weight. 
The only thing that contradicted this prevalent 

air of indigence was the dress of the hostess. 
22 



338 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

She was a slattern of course ; yet her garmentSj 
though dirty and negligent, were of costly mate- 
rials. She wore several rings of great value on 
her fuigers, and jewels in her ears, and round her 
neck was a string of large pearls, to which was 
attached a sparkling crucifix. She had the re- 
mains of beauty, yet there was something in the 
expression of her countenance that inspired the 
young lady with singular aversion. She was 
officious and obsequious in her attentions, and 
both the Count and his daughter felt relieved, 
when she consigned them to the care of a dark, 
sullen - looking servant - maid, and went off to 
superintend the supper. 

Caspar was indignant at the muleteer for hav- 
ing, either through negligence or design, subjected 
his master and mistress to such quarters ; and 
vowed by his moustaches to have revenge on the 
old varlet the moment they were safe out from 
among the mountains. He kept up a continual 
quarrel with the sulky servant-maid, which only 
served to increase the sinister expression with 
which she regarded the travellers, from under 
her strong dark eyebrows. 

As to the Count, he was a good-humored pas- 
sive traveller. Perhaps real misfortunes had 
subdued his spirit, and rendered him tolerant of 
many of those petty evils which make prosperous 
men miserable. He drew a large broken arm- 
chair to the fireside for his daughter, and another 
for himself, and seizing an enormous pair of 
tongs, endeavored to rearrange the wood so as to 
produce a blaze. His efforts, however, wert> 



THE BELAThD TRAVELLERS. 339 

ojily repaid by thicker puffs of smoke, which 
almost overcame the good gentleman's patience. 
He would draw back, cast a look upon his deli- 
cate daughter, then upon the cheerless, squalid 
apartment, and, shrugging his shoulders, would 
trive a fresh stir to the fire. 

Of all the miseries of a comfortless inn, how- 
ever, there is none greater than sulky attendance 
the good Count for some time bore the smoke in 
silence, rather than address himself to the scowl- 
ing servant-maid. At length he was compelled 
to beg for drier firewood. The woman retired 
muttering. On reentering the room hastily, with 
an armful of fagots, her foot slipped ; she fellj 
and strikincr her head ao^ainst the corner of a 
chair, cut her temple severely. 

The blow stunned her for a time, and the 
wound bled profusely. When she recovered, she 
found the Count's daughter administering to her 
wound, and binding it up with her own handker- 
chief. It was such an attention as any woman 
of ordinary feeling would have yielded ; but per 
haps there was something in the appearance of 
the lovely being who bent over her, or in the 
tones of her voice, that touched the heart of the 
woman, unused to be administered to by such 
hands. Certain it is, she was strongly affected. 
She caught the delicate hand of the Polonaise, 
and pressed it fervently to her lips. 

" May San Francesco Avatch over you, Sig- 
nora ! " exclaimed she. 

A new arrival broke the stillness of the inn 
ft was a Spanish princess with a numerous retinue 



S40 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

The court-yard was in an uproar ; the house 
in a bustle. The landlady hurried to attend 
such distinguished guests ; and the poor Count 
and his daughter, and their supper, were for a 
moment forgotten. The veteran Caspar muttered 
Polish maledictions enough to agonize an Italian 
ear ; but it was impossible to convince the hostes? 
of the superiority of his old master and young 
mistress to the whole nobility of Spain. 

The noise of the arrival had attracted the 
daughter to the window just as the new-comers 
had alighted. A young cavalier sprang out of 
the carriage and handed out the Princess. The 
latter was a little shrivelled old lady, with a face 
of parchment and sparkling black eye ; she was 
richly and gayly dressed, and walked with the 
assistance of a golden-headed cane as high as 
herself. The young man was tall and elegantly 
formed. The Count's daughter shrank back at 
the sight of him, though the deep frame of the 
window screened her from observation. She mive 
a heavy sigh as she closed the casement. What 
that sigh meant I cannot say. Perhaps it was at 
the contrast between the splendid equipage of the 
Princess, and the crazy rheumatic-looking old 
vehicle of her father, which stood hard by. 
VYhatever might be the reason, the young lady 
closed the casement with a sigh. She returned 
to her chair, — a slight shivering passed over 
her delicate frame : she leaned her elbow on the 
arm of the chair, rested her pale cheek in the 
palm of her hand, and looked mournfully into 
the fire. 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 341 

The Count thought she appeared paler than 
usual. 

" Does anything ail thee, my child ? " said he. 

" Notliing, dear father ! " replied she, laying her 
hand within his, and looking up smiling in his 
face ; but as she said so, a treacherous tear rose 
suddenly to her eye, and she turned away hei' 
head. 

" The air of the window has chilled thee," said 
the Count, fondly, " but a good night's rest will 
make all well again." 

The supper-table was at length laid, and the 
supper about to be served, when the hostess ap- 
peared, with her usual obsequiousness, apologizing 
for showing in the new-comers ; but the night air 
was cold, and there was no other chamber in the 
inn with a fire in it. She had scarcely made 
the apology when the Princess entered, leaning 
on the arm of the elegant young man. 

The Count immediately recognized her for a 
lady whom he had met frequently in society, both 
at Rome and Naples ; and at whose conversa- 
ziones, in fact, he had been constantly invited 
The cavalier, too, was her nephew and heir, who 
had been greatly admired in the gay circles both 
for his merits and prospects, and who had once 
been on a visit at the same time with his dausrh- 
ter and himself at the villa of a nobleman near 
Naples. Report had recently affianced him to a 
rich Spanish heiress. 

The meeting was agreeable to both the Count 
and the Princess. The former was a gentleman 
of the old school, courteous in the extreme ; tliQ 



342 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Princess had been a belle in her youtli. and a 
woman of fashion all her life, and liked to be at- 
tended to. 

The young man approached the daughter, and 
began something of a complimentary observation ; 
but his manner was embarrassed, and his compli- 
ment ended in an indistinct murmur ; while the 
daughter bowed without looking up, moved her 
lips without articulating a word, and sank again 
into her chair, where she sat gazing into the fire, 
with a thousand varying expressions passing over 
her countenance. 

This singular greeting of the young people 
was not perceived by the old ones, who were 
occupied at the time with their own courteous 
salutations. It was arranged that they should 
sup together ; and as the Princess travelled with 
her own cook, a very tolerable supper soon 
smoked upon the board. This, too, was assisted 
by choice wines, and liquors, and delicate confi- 
tures brought from one of her carriages ; for she 
was a veteran epicure, and curious in her relish 
for the good things of this world. She was, in 
fact, a vivacious little old lady, who mingled the 
woman of dissipation with the devotee. She was 
actually on her way to Loretto to expiate a long 
life of gallantries and peccadilloes by a rich offer- 
ing at the holy shrine. She was, to be sure, 
rather a luxurious penitent, and a contrast to the 
primitive pilgrims, with scrip and staff", and cockle- 
shell ; but then it would be unreasonable to ex- 
pect such self-denial from people of fashion ; and 
there was not a doubt of the ample efficacy of 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 348 

the ricli crucifixes, and golden vessels, and jew- 
elled ornaments, which she was bearing to the 
treasury of the blessed Virgin. 

The Princess and the Count chatted much 
during supper about the scenes and society in 
which they had mingled, and did not notice that 
they had all the conversation to themselves : the 
young people were silent and constrained. The 
''aughter ate nothing in spite of the politeness of 
Ltie Princess, who continually pressed her to taste 
of one or other of the delicacies. The Count 
shook his head. 

" She is not well this evening," said he. " I 
thought she would have fainted just now as she 
was looking out of the window at your carriage 
on its arrival." 

A crimson glow flushed to the very temples 
of the daughter ; but she leaned over her plate, 
and her tresses cast a shade over her counte- 
nance. 

When supper was over, they drew their chairs 
about the great fireplace. The flame and smoke 
had subsided, and a heap of glowing embers dif- 
fused a grateful warmth. A guitar, which had 
been brought from the Count's carriage, leaned 
against the wall ; the Princess perceived it. — 
" Can we not have a little music before parting 
for the night ? " demanded she. 

The Count was proud of his daughter's accom- 
plishment, and joined in the request. The young 
man made an effort of politeness, and taking up 
the guitar, presented it, though in an embarrassed 
manner, to the fair musician. She would have 



344 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

declined it, but was too much confused to do so 
indeed, she was so nervous and agitated, that shfe 
dared not trust her voice, to make an excuse. 
She touched the instrument with a faltering hand, 
and, after preluding a little, accompanied herself 
in several Polish airs. Her father's eyes glis- 
tened as he sat gazing on her. Even the crusty 
Caspar lingered in the room, partly through a 
fondness for the music of liis native country, but 
chiefly through his pride in the musician. Indeed 
the melody of the voice, and the delicacy of the 
touch, were enough to have charmed more fastid- 
ious ears. The little Princess nodded her head 
and tapped her hand to the music, though exceed- 
ingly out of time ; while the nephew sat buried 
in profound contemplation of a black picture on 
the opposite wall. 

" And now," said the Count, patting her cheek 
fondly, " one more favor. Let the Princess hear 
that little Spanish air you were so fond of. You 
can't think," added he, " what a proficiency she 
has made in your language ; though she has been 
a sad girl, and neglected it of late." 

The color flushed the pale cheek of the daugh- 
ter. She hesitated, murmured something ; but 
with sudden effort, collected herself, struck the 
guitar boldly, and began. It was a Spanish ro- 
mance, with something of love and melancholy in 
it. She gave the first stanza with great expres- 
sion, for the tremulous, melting tones gf her voice 
went to the heart ; but her articulation failed, her 
Ups quivered, the song died away, and she burst 
into tears. 



TEE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 345 

The Count folded her tenderly in his arms. 
" Thou art not well, ray child," said he, " and I 
am tasking thee cruelly. Retu-e to thy cham- 
ber, and God bless thee ! " She bowed to the 
company without raising her eyes, and glided out 
of the room. 

The Count shook his head as the door closed. 
" Something is the matter with that child," said 
he, " which I cannot divine. She has lost all 
health and spirits lately. She was always a ten- 
der flower, and I liad much pains to rear her. 
Excuse a father's foolishness," continued he, " but 
I have seen much trouble in my family ; and 
this poor girl is all that is now left to me ; and 
she used to be so lively" 

*' Maybe she 's in love ! " said the little Prin- 
cess, with a shrewd nod of the head. 

" Impossible ! " replied the good Count, art- 
lessly. " She has never mentioned a word of 
such a thing to me." 

How little did the worthy gentleman drean? 
of the thousand cares, and griefs, and mighty love 
concerns which agitate a virgin heart, and which 
a timid girl scarcely breathes unto herself. 

The nephew of the Princess rose abruptly and 
walked about the room. 

When she found herself alone in her chamber, 
the feelings of the young lady, so long restrained, 
broke forth with violence. She opened the case- 
ment that the cool air might blow upon her throb- 
bing temples. Perhaps there was some little 
pride or pique mingled with her emotions ; though 
her gentle nature did not seem calculated to har- 
bor any such angry inmate. 



S46 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

" He saw me weep ! " said she, with a sudden 
mantling of the cheek, and a sweUing of the 
throat, — " but no matter ! — no matter ! " 

And so saying, she threw her wliite arms across 
the window-frame, buried her face in them, and 
abandoned herself to an agony of tears. She 
remained lost in a reverie, until the sound of her 
father's and Caspar's voices in the adjoining room 
gave token that the party had retired for the 
night. The lights gleaming from window to win- 
dow, showed that they were conducting the Prin- 
cess to her apartments, which were in the oppo- 
site wing of the inn ; and she distinctly saw the 
figure of the nephew as he passed one of the case- 
ments. 

She heaved a deep heart-drawn sigh, and was 
about to close the lattice, when her attention was 
caught by words spoken below her window by 
two persons who had just turned an angle of the 
buildinsr. 

" But what will become of the poor young 
lady ? " said a voice, which she recognized for 
that of the servant-woman. 

" Pooh ! she must take her chance," was the 
reply from old Pietro. 

" But cannot she be spared ? " asked the other, 
entreatingly ; " she 's so kind-hearted ! " 

" Cospetto ! what has got into thee ? " replied 
the other, petulantly ; " would you mar the whole 
business for the sake of a silly girl ? " By this 
time they had got so far from the window that 
the Polonaise could hear nothing further. There 
was something in this fragment of conversation 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 347 

calculated to alarm. Did it relate to herself?— • 
and if so, what was this impending danger from 
which it was entreated that she might be spared ? 
She was several times on the point of tapping at 
her father's door, to tell him what she had heard, 
but she might have been mistaken ; she might 
have heard indistinctly ; the conversation might 
have alluded to some one else ; at any rate, it 
was too indefinite to lead to any conclusion. 
While in this state of irresolution, she was star- 
tled by a low knock against the wainscot in a 
remote part of her gloomy chamber. On holding 
lip the light, she beheld a small door there, which 
fshe had not before remarked. It was bolted on 
the inside. She advanced, and demanded who 
knocked, and was answered in a voice of the 
female domestic. On opening the door, the 
woman stood before it pale and agitated. She 
entered softly, laying her finger on her lips as in 
sign of caution and secrecy. 

" Fly ! " said she : " leave this house instantly, 
or you are lost ! " 

The young lady, trembling with alarm, de- 
manded an explanation. 

" I have no time," replied the woman, " I dare 
not — I shall be missed if I linger here — but 
fly instantly, or you are lost." 

*' And leave my father ? " 

« Where is he ? " 

"In the adjoining chamber." 

" Call him, then, but lose no time." 

The yomig lady knqcked at her father's door. 
He was not yet retired to bed. She hurried into 



S48 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

his room, and told him of the fearful warnings 
she had received. The Count returned with her 
into the chamber, followed by Caspar. His ques- 
tions soon drew the truth out of the embarrassed 
answers of the woman. The inn was beset by 
robbers. They were to be introduced after mid- 
night, when the attendants of the Princess and 
the rest of the travellers were sleeping, and would 
be an easy prey. 

" But we can barricade the inn, we can defend 
ourselves," said the Count. 

" What ! when the people of the inn are in 
league with the banditti ? " 

" How then are we to escape ? Can we not 
order out the carriage and depart ? " 

" San Francesco ! for what ? to give the alarm 
that the plot is discovered ? That would make 
the robbers desperate, and bring them on you at 
once. They have had notice of the rich booty 
in the inn, and will not easily let it escape them." 

" But how else are we to get off? " 

" There is a horse behind the inn," said the 
woman, " from which the man has just dis- 
mounted who has been to summon the aid of part 
of the band at a distance." 

" One horse ; and there are three of us ! " said 
the Count. 

" And the Spanish Princess ! " cried the daugh- 
ter, anxiously. " How can she be extricated 
from the danger ? " 

" Diavolo ! what is she to me ? " said the wom- 
an, in sudden passion. " It is you I come to 
save, ana you will betray me, and we shall all 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 349 

be lost ! Hark ! " continued she, " I am called 
— I shall be discovered — one word more. This 
door leads by a staircase to the courtyard. Un- 
der the shed, in the rear of the yard, is a small 
door leading out to the fields. You will find a 
horse there ; mount it ; make a circuit under the 
shadow of a ridge of rocks that you will see ; 
proceed cautiously and quietly until you cross a 
brook, and find yourself on the road just where 
there are three white crosses nailed against a 
tree ; then put your horse to his speed, and make 
the best of your way to the village — but recol- 
lect, my life is in your hands — say nothing of 
what you have heard or seen, whatever may hap- 
pen at this inn." 

The woman hurried away. A short and agi- 
tated consultation took place between the Count, 
his daughter, and the veteran Caspar. The 
young lady seemed to have lost all apprehension 
for herself in her solicitude for the safety of the 
Princess. " To fly in selfish silence, and leave 
her to be massacred ! " — A shuddering seized 
her at the very thought. The gallantry of the 
Count, too, revolted at the idea. He could not 
consent to turn his back upon a party of helpless 
travellers, and leave them in ignorance of the 
danger which hung over them. 

" But what is to become of the young lady," 
said Caspar, '• if the alarm is given, and the inn 
thrown in a tumult ? What may happen to her 
in a chance-medley affray ? " 

Here the feelino-s of tlie father were aroused ; 
ue looked upon his lovely, helpless ciiild, and trem- 



350 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

bled at the chance of her falling into the hands of 
ruffians. 

The daughter, however, thought nothing of 
herself " The Princess 1 the Princess ! — only 
let the Princess know her danger." She was will- 
ing to share it with her. 

At length Caspar interfered with the zeal of a 
faithful old servant. No time was to be lost — 
the first thing was to get the young lady out of 
danger. " Mount the horse," said he to the 
Count, " take her behind you, and fly ! Make 
for tlie village, rouse the inhabitants, and send as- 
sistance. Leave me here to give the alarm to 
the Princess and her people. I am an old soldier, 
and I think we shall be able to stand siege until 
you send us aid." 

The dauo;hter would ao-ain have insisted on 
staying with the Princess — 

" For what ? " said old Caspar, bluntly. " You 
could do no good — you would be in the way ; — 
we should have to take care of you instead of 
ourselves." 

There was no answering these objections ; the 
Count seized his pistols, and taking his daughter 
under his arm, moved towards the staircase. 
The young lady paused, stepped back, and said, 
faltering with agitation — " There is a young cav- 
alier with the Princess — her nephew — perhaps 
he may " — 

" I understand you. Mademoiselle," replied old 
Caspar, with a significant nod ; " not a hair of his 
Head shall suffer harm if I can lielp it." 

The young lady blushed deeper thaji ever ; she 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 351 

had not anticipated being so thoroughly understood 
by the blunt old servant. 

" That is not what I mean," said she, hesitat- 
ing. She would have added something, or made 
some explanation, but the moments were precious, 
and her father hurried her away. 

They found their way through the courtyard to 
the small postern gate where the horse stood, fast- 
ened to a ring in the wall. The Count mounted, 
took his daughter behind him, and they proceeded 
as quietly as possible in the direction which the 
woman had pointed out. Many a fearful and 
anxious look did the daughter cast back upon the 
gloomy pile ; the lights which had feebly twinkled 
through the dusky casements Avere one by one dis- 
appearing, a sign that the inmates were gradually 
sinking to repose ; and she trembled with impa- 
tience, lest succor should not arrive until that re- 
pose had been fatally interrupted. 

They passed silently and safely along the skirts 
of the rocks, protected from observation by their 
overhanging shadows. They crossed the brook, 
and reached the place where three white crosses 
nailed against a tree told of some murder that had 
been committed there. Just as they had reached 
this ill-omened spot they beheld several men in the 
gloom coming down a craggy defile among the 
rocks. 

" Who goes there ? " exclaimed a voice. The 
Count , put spurs to his horse, but one of the men 
sprang forward and seized the bridle. The horse 
started back, and reared ; and had not the young 
Ijvcly clung to her father, she would have been 



852 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

thrown off. The Count leaned forward, put a 
pistol to the very head of the ruffian, and fired. 
The latter fell dead. The horse sprang forward. 
Two or three shots Avere fired which whistled by 
the fugitives, but only served to augment theii 
speed. They reached the village in safety. 

The whole place was soon roused ; but such 
wiiS the awe in which the banditti were held, that 
the inhabitants shrunk at the idea of encounter- 
ing them. A desperate band had for some time 
infested that pass thi-ough the mountains, and the 
inn had long been suspected of being one of those 
horrible places where the unsuspicious wayfarer 
is entrapped and silently disposed of. The rich 
ornaments worn by the slattern hostess of the inn 
had excited heavy suspicions. Several instances 
had occurred of small parties of travellers disap- 
pearing mysteriously on that road, who, it was 
supposed at first, had been carried off by the rob- 
bers for the purpose of ransom, but who had 
never been heard of more. Such were the tales 
buzzed in the ears of the Count by the villagers, 
as he endeavored to rouse them to the rescue of 
the Princess and her train from their perilous sit- 
uation. The daughter seconded the exertions of 
her father with all the eloquence of prayers, and 
tears, and beauty. Every moment that elapsed 
increased her anxiety until it became agonizing. 
Fortunately there was a body of gendarmes rest- 
ing at the village. A number of the young vil- 
lagers volunteered to accompany them, and the lit- 
tle army was put in motion. The Count having 
deposited his daughter in a place of safety, was loo 



THE BELATEU TRAVELLERS. 853 

mucli of the old soldier not to hasten to the scene 
of danger. It would be difficult to paint the 
anxious agitation of the young lady while await- 
ing the result. 

The party arrived at the inn just in time. 
The robbers, finding their plans discovered, and 
the travellers prepared for their reception, had 
become open and furious in their attack. The 
Princess's party had barricaded themselves in one 
suite of apartments, and repulsed the robbers 
from the doors and windows. Caspar had shown 
the generalship of a veteran, and the nephew of 
the Princess the dashing valor of a young soldier. 
Their ammunition, however, was nearly exhausted, 
and they would have found it difficult to hold out 
much longer, when a discharge from the musket- 
ry of the gendarmes gave them the joyful tidings 
of succor. 

A fierce fight ensued, for part of the robbers 
were surprised in the inn, and had to stand siege 
in their turn ; while their comrades made desper- 
ate attempts to relieve them from under cover 
of the neighboring rocks and thickets. 

I cannot pretend to give a minute account of 
the fight, as I have heard it related in a variety 
of ways. Suffice it to say, the robbers were de- 
feated ; several of them killed, and several taken 
prisoners ; which \aM^ together with the people 
of the inn, were either executed or sent to the 
galleys. ' ' 

I picked up these particulars in the course of a 
journey which I made some time after the event 
had taken place. I passed by the very inn. Il 
23 



354 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 

was tlien dismantled, excepting one wing, in 
which a body of gendarmes was stationed. They 
pointed out to me the shot-holes in the window- 
frames, the walls, and the panels of the doors. 
There were a number of withered limbs dan- 
gling from the branches of a neighboring tree, 
and blackening in the air, which I was told were 
the limbs of the robbers who had been slaiu, and 
the culprits who had been executed. The whole 
place had a dismal, wild, forlorn look. 

" Were any of the Princess's party killed ? " 
inquired the Englishman. 

" As far as I can recollect, there were two or 
three." 

" Not the nephew, I trust ? " said the fair 
Venetian. 

" Oh no : he hastened with the Count to relieve 
the anxiety of the daughter by the assurances of 
victory. The young lady had been sustained 
through the interval of suspense by the very 
intensitv of her feelings. The moment she saw 
her father returning in safety, accompanied by the 
nephew of the Princess, she uttered a cry of rap- 
ture, and fainted. Happily, however, she soon 
recovered, and what is more, was married shortly 
afterwards to the young cavalier; and the whole 
party accompanied the old Princess in her pilgrim- 
age to Loretto, where her votive offerings may 
still be seen in the treasury of the Santa Casa." 

It would be tedious to follow the devious course 
of the conversation as it wound through a maze 
of stories of the kind, until it was taken up by 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 355 

two otlier travellers who had come under convoy 
of the procaccio : Mr. Hobbs and Mr. Dobbs, a 
linen-draper and a green - grocer, just returning 
from a hasty tour in Greece and the Holy Land. 
They were full of the story of Alderman Pop- 
kins. They were astonished that the robber? 
should dare to molest a man of his importance od 
'Change, he being an eminent dry-salter of Throg- 
morton Street, and a magistrate to boot. 

In fact, the story of the Popkins family wah 
but too true. It was attested by too many pres- 
ent to be for a moment doubted ; and from the 
contradictory and concordant testimony of half a 
score, all eager to relate it, and all talking at the 
same time, the Englishman was enabled to gathe? 
the following particulars. 





M)VENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY 




T was but a few days before, that the 
carriage of Alderman Popkins had 
driven up to the inn of Terracina. 
Those who have seen an English family-carriage 
on the Continent must have remarked the sensa- 
tion it produces. It is an epitome of England ; 
a little morsel of the old Island rolling about the 
world. Everything about it compact, snug, fin- 
ished, and fitting. The wheels turning on patent 
axles without rattling ; the body, hanging so well 
on its springs, yielding to every motion, yet pro- 
tecting from every shock ; the ruddy faces gap- 
ing from the windows, — sometimes of a portly 
old citizen, sometimes of a voluminous dowager. 
and sometimes of a fine fresh hoyden just from 
boarding-school. And then the dickeys loaded 
with well-dressed servants, beef-fed and bluff; 
looking down from their heights with contempt 
on all the world around ; profoundly ignorant of 
the country and the people, and devoutly certain 
that' everything not English must be wrong. 

Such was the carriage of Alderman Popkins 
as it made its appearance at Terracina. The 
courier who had preceded it to order horses, and 
who was a Neapolitan, had given a magnificent 



THE POPKTNS FAMILY. 357 

account of the richness and greatness of his 
master ; blundering with an Italian's splendor of 
imasfination about the Alderman's titles and dis;- 
nities. The host had added his usual share of 
exaggeration ; so that by the time the Alderman 
drove up to the door, he was a Milor — Magni- 
lico — Principe — the Lord knows what ! 

The Alderman was advised to take an escort 
to Fondi and Itri, but he refused. It was as 
much as a man's life was worth, he said, to stop 
him on the king's highway : he would complain 
of it to the ambassador at Naples ; he would 
make a national affair of it. The Principessa 
Popkins, a fresh, motherly dame, seemed perfectly 
secure in the protection of her husband, so om- 
nipotent a man in the city. The Signorines 
Popkins, two fine bouncing girls, looked to their 
brother Tom, who had taken lessons in boxing ; 
and as to the dandy himself, he swore no scara- 
mouch of an Italian robber would dare to med- 
dle with an EnMishman. The landlord shruffsred 
his shoulders, and turned out the palms of his 
hands with a true Italian grimace, and the car- 
riage of Milor Popkins rolled on. 

They passed through several very suspicious 
places without any molestation. The Misses 
Popkins, who were very romantic, and had learnt 
to draw in water-colors, were enchanted with the 
savage scenery around ; it was so like what they 
had read in Mrs. Radcliff's romances ; they should 
like, of all thing-s, to make sketches. At length 
the carriage arrived at a place where the road 
wround up a long hill. Mrs. Popkins had sunk 



358 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

into a skv.|) ; the young ladies were lost in the 
" Loves of the Angels " ; and the dandy was 
hectoring the postilions from the coach-box. The 
Alderman got out, as he said, to stretch his legs 
up the hill. It was a long, winding ascent, and 
obliged him every now and then to stop and blow 
and wipe his forehead, with many a pish ! and 
phew ! being rather pursy and short of Avind. 
As the carriage, however, was far behind him, 
and moved slowly under the weight of so many 
well-stuffed trunks, and well-stuffed travellers, he 
had plenty of time to walk at leisure. 

On a jutting point of a rock that overhung 
the road, nearly at the summit of the hill, just 
where the road began again to descend, he saw a 
solitary man seated, who appeared to be tending 
goats. Alderman Popkins was one of your 
shrewd travellers who always like to be picking 
up small information along the road ; so he 
thought he 'd just scramble up to the honest man, 
and have a little talk with him by way of learn- 
ing the news and getting a lesson in Italian. As 
he drew near to the peasant, he did not half like 
his looks. He was partly reclining on the rocks, 
wrapped in the usual long mantle, which, with 
In's slouched hat, only left a part of a swarthy 
visage, with a keen black eye, a beetle brow, and 
a fierce moustache to be seen. He had whistled 
several times to his dog, which was roving about 
the side ot the hill. As the Alderman approached, 
he arose and greeted him. When standing erect, 
he seemed almost gigantic, at least in the eyes of 
Alderman Popkins, who, however, being a short 
man, might be deceived. 



THE POPKINS FAMILY. 359 

The latter would gladly now have been back 
m the carriage, or even on 'Change in London ; 
for he was by no means well pleased with his 
company. However, he determined to put the 
best face on matters, and was beginning a conver- 
sation about the state of the weather, the bad- 
dishness of the crops, and the price of goats in 
that part of the country, when he heard a violent 
screaming. He ran to the edge of the rock, and 
looking over, beheld his carriage surrounded by 
robbers. One held down the fat footman, another 
had the dandy by his starched cravat, with a pistol 
to his head ; one was rummaging a portmanteau, 
another rummaging the Principessa's pockets ; 
while the two Misses Popkins were screaming 
from each window of the carriage, and their 
waiting-maid squalling from the dickey. 

Alderman Popkins felt all the ire of the parent 
and the magistrate roused within him. He 
grasped his cane, and was on the point of scram- 
bling: down the rocks either to assault the robbers 
or to read the riot act, when he was suddenly 
seized by the arm. It was by his friend the 
goatherd, whose cloak falling open, discovered a 
belt stuck full of pistols and stilettos. In short, 
he found himself in the clutches of the captain 
of the band, who had stationed himself on the 
rock to look out for travellers and to give notice 
to his men. 

A sad ransacking took place. Trunks were 
turned inside out, and all the finery and frippery 
of the Popkins family scattered about the road. 
Such a chaos of Venice beads and Roman mosa 



360 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

ics, and Paris bonnets of the young ladles, min- 
gled with the Alderman's nightcaps and lambs' 
wool stockings, and the dandy's hair-brushes, 
stays, and starched cravats. 

The gentlemen were eased of their purses and 
their watches, the ladies of their jewels ; and the 
whole party were on the point of being carried 
up into the mountain, when fortunately the ap- 
pearance of soldiers at a distance obliged the 
robbers to make off with the spoils tliey had se- 
cured, and leave the Popkins family to gather 
together the remnants of their effects, and make 
the best of their way to Fondi. 

When safe arrived, the Alderman made a 
terrible blustering at the inn ; threatened to com- 
plain to the ambassador at Naples, and was ready 
to shake his cane at the whole country. The 
dandy had many stories to tell of his scuffles 
with, the brigands, who overpowered him merely 
by numbers. As to the Misses Popkins, they 
were quite delighted with the adventure, and 
were occupied the whole evening in writing it in 
their journals. They declared the captain of the 
band to be a most romantic-looking man, they 
dared to say some unfortunate lover or exiled 
nobleman ; and several of the band to be very 
handsome young men — " quite picturesque ! " 

" In verity," said mine host of Terracina, 
" they say the captain of the band is un gallant 
uomor 

" A gallant man ! " said the Englishman, indig- 
nantly : " I 'd have your gallant man hanged like 
A dog ! " 



THE POP KINS FAMILY. 36) 

" To dare to meddle with Englishmen ! '* said 
Mr. Hobbs. 

" And such a family as the Popkinses ! " said 
Mr. Dobbs. 

" They ought to come upon the country for 
damages ! " said Mr. Hobbs. 

" Our ambassador should make a complaint to 
the government of Naples," said Mr. Dobbs. 

" They should be obliged to drive these rascals 
out of the country," said Hobbs. 

" And if they did not, we should declare war 
against them," said Dobbs. 

" Pish ! — humbug ! " muttered the English- 
man to himself, and walked away. 

The Englishman had been a little wearied by 
this story, and by the ultra zeal of his country- 
men, and was glad when a summons to their 
supper relieved him from the crowd of travellers. 
He walked out with his Venetian friends and a 
young Frenchman of an interesting demeanor, 
who had become sociable with them in the course 
of the conversation. They directed their steps 
towards the sea, which was lit up by the rising 
moon. 

As they strolled along the beach they came to 
where a party of soldiers were stationed in a 
circle. They were guarding a number of galley 
slaves, who were permitted to refresh themselves 
in the evening breeze, and sport and roll upon 
the sand. 

The Frenchman paused, and pointed to the 
group of wretches at their sports. " It is diffi- 



362 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

cult," said he, " to conceive a more frightful mass 
of crime than is here collected. Many of these 
have probably been robbers, such as you have 
heard described. Such is, too often, the career 
of crime in this country. The parricide, the 
fratricide, the infanticide, the miscreant of every 
kind, first flies from justice and turns moun* 
tain bandit ; and then, when wearied of a life 
of ' danger, becomes traitor to his brother des- 
peradoes ; betrays them to punishment, and thus 
buys a commutation of his own sentence from 
death to the galleys ; happy in the privilege of 
wallowing on the shore an hour a day, in this 
mere state of animal enjoyment." 

The fair Venetian shuddered as she cast a look 
at the horde of wretches at their evening amuse- 
ment. " They seemed," she said, " like so many 
serpents writhing together." And yet the idea 
that some of them had been robbers, those for- 
midable beino;s that haunted her imamnation. 
made her still cast another fearful glance, as we 
contemplate some terrible beast of prey, with a 
degree of awe and horror, even though caged and 
chained. 

The conversation reverted to the tales of ban- 
ditti which they had heard at the inn. The 
Englishman condemned some of them as fabrica- 
tions, others as exaggerations. As to the stoi-y 
of the improvisatore, he pronounced it a mere 
piece of romance, originating in the heated brain 
of the narrator. 

" And yet," said the Frenchman, " there is so 
much romance about tlie real life of those beings. 



THE POPKINS FAMILY. 36S 

and about the singular country they infest, that it 
is hard to tell what to reject on the ground of im- 
probability. I have had an adventure happen 
to myself ;which gave me an opportunity of get- 
ting some insight into their manners and habits, 
which I found altog^ether out of the common run 
of existence." 

There was an air of mingled frankness and 
modesty about the Frenchman which had gained 
the goodwill of the whole party, not even except- 
ing the Englishman. They all eagerly inquired 
after the particulars of the circumstances he al- 
luded to, and as they strolled slowly up and down 
the sea-shore, he related the following adventure. 





THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 




AM an historical painter by profession, 
and resided for some time in the family 
of a foreign Prince at his villa, about 
fifteen miles from Rome, among some of the most 
interesting scenery of Italy. It is situated on the 
heights of ancient Tusculum. In its neiglibor- 
hood are the ruins of the villas of Cicero, Scylla, 
LucuUus, Rufinus, and other illustrious Romans, 
who sought refuge here occasionally from their 
toils, in the bosom of a soft and luxurious repose. 
From the midst of delightful bowers, refreshed 
by the pure mountain breeze, the eye looks over 
a romantic landscape full of poetical and historical 
associations. The Albanian Mountains ; Tivoli, 
once the favorite residence of Horace and Mec^e- 
nas ; the vast, deserted, melancholy Campagna, 
with the Tiber winding through it, and St. Pe- 
ter's dome swelling in the midst, the monument, 
as it were, over the grave of ancient Rome. 

I assisted the Prince in researches which he 
was makino- amons: the classic ruins of his vicin- 
ity : his exertions were highly successful. Many 
wrecks of admirable statues and fragments of ex- 
quisite sculpture were dug up ; monuments of 
the taste and magnificence that reigned in the aD- 



THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 385 

cient Tusculan abodes. He had studded bis villa 
and its grounds with statues, relievos, vases, and 
sarcophagi, thus retrieved from the bosom of the 
earth. 

The mode of life pursued at the villa was de- 
lightfully serene, diversified by interesting occupa- 
tions and elegant leisure. Every one passed the 
day according to his pleasure or pursuits ; and 
we all assembled in a cheerful dinner-party at 
sunset. 

It was on the fourth of November, a beautiful 
serene day, that we had assembled in the saloon 
at the sound of the first dinner-bell. The family 
were surprised at the absence of the Prince's 
confessor. They waited for him ui vain, and 
at length placed themselves at table. They at 
first attributed his absence to his having pro- 
longed his customary walk; and the early part 
of the dinner passed without any uneasiness. 
When the dessert was served, however, without 
his making his appearance, they began to feel 
anxious. They feared he might have been taken 
ill in some alley of the woods, or might have 
fallen into the hands of robbers. Not far from 
the villa, with the interval of a small valley, rose 
the mountains of the Abruzzi, the strong-hold of 
banditti. Indeed, the neighborhood had for some 
time past been infested by them ; and Barbone, 
a notorious bandit chief, had often been met 
prowling about the solitudes of Tusculum. The 
daring enterprises of these ruffians were well 
known : the objects of their cupidity or vengeance 
were insecure even in palaces. As '^^t they had 



366 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

respected the possessions of the Prince; but the 
idea of such dangerous spirits hovering about the 
neighborhood was sufficient to occasion alarm. 

The fears of tlie company increased as even 
ing closed in. The Prince ordered out forest 
guards and domestics with flambeaux to search 
for the confessor. They had not departed long 
when a slight noise was heard in the corridor of 
the ground-floor. The family were dining on the 
first floor, and the remaining domestics were oc- 
cupied in attendance. There was no one on the 
ground-floor at this moment but the housekeeper, 
the laundress, and three field-laborers, who were 
resting themselves, and conversing with the 
women. 

I heard the noise from below, and presuming 
it to be occasioned by the return of the absentee, 
I left the table and hastened down-stairs, eager to 
gain intelligence that might relieve the anxiety 
of the Prince and Princess. I had scarcely 
reached the last step, when I beheld before me a 
man dressed as a bandit ; a carbine in his hand, 
and a stiletto and pistols in his belt. His coun- 
tenance had a mingled expression of ferocity and 
trepidation : he sprang upon me, and exclaimed 
exultingly, " Ecco il principe ! " 

I saw at once into what hands I had fallen, but 
endeavored to summon up coolness and presence 
of mind. A glance towards the lower end of the 
oorridor showed me several ruffians, clothed and 
armed in the same manner with the one who had 
seized me. They were guarding the two females 
and the field laborers. The robber, who held me 



TfTE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 367 

firmly by the collar, demanded repeatedly whether 
or not I were the Prmce : his object evidently 
was to carry off the Prince, and extort an im- 
mense ransom. He was enraged at receiving 
none but vague replies, for I felt the importance' 
of misleading him. 

A sudden thought struck me how I might ex- 
tricate myself from his clutches. I was unarmed, 
it is true, but I was vigorous. His companions 
were at a distance. By a sudden exertion I 
might wrest myself from him, and spring up the 
staircase, whither he would not dare to follow me 
singly. The idea was put in practice as soon as 
conceived. The ruffian's throat was bare ; with 
my right hand 1 seized him by it, with my left 
hand I grasped the arm which held the carbine. 
The suddenness of my attack took him completely 
unawares, and the strangling nature of my grasp 
paralyzed him. He choked and faltered. I felt 
his hand relaxing its hold, and was on the point 
of jerking myself away, and darting up the stair- 
case, before he could recover himself, when I was 
suddenly seized by some one from behind. 

I had to let go my grasp. The bandit, once 
released, fell upon me with fury, and gave me sev- 
eral blows with the butt end of his carbine, one 
of which wounded me severely in the forehead 
and covered me with blood. He took advantage 
of my being stunned to rifle me of my watch, 
and whatever valuables I had about my person. 

When I recovered from the effect of the blow, 
£ heard the voice of the chief of the banditti, 
who exclaimed — " Quello e il principe ; siama 



568 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

contente ; andiamo ! " (It is the Prince ; enough 
let us be off.) The band immediately closed 
around me and dragged me out of the palace, 
bearing off the three laborers likewise. 

I had no hat on, and the blood flowed from my 
wound ; I managed to stanch it, howevei, with 
my pocket-handkerchief, wliich I bound round 
my forehead. The captain of the band conducted 
me in triumph, supposing me to be the Prince. 
We had gone some distance before he learnt his 
mistake from one of the laborers. His rage was 
terrible. It was too late to return to the villa 
and endeavor to retrieve his error, for by this 
time the alarm must have been given, and every 
one in arms. He darted at me a ferocious look, 
— swore I had deceived him, and caused him to 
miss his fortune, — and told me to prepare for 
death. The rest of the robbers were equally fu- 
rious. I saw their hands upon their poniards, 
and I knew that death was seldom an empty 
threat with these ruffians. The laborers saw the 
peril into which their information had betrayed 
me, and eagerly assured the captain that I was a 
man for whom the Prince would pay a great ran- 
som. This produced a pause. For my part, I 
cannot say that I had been much dismayed by 
their menaces. I mean not to make any boast 
of courage ; but I have been so schooled to hard- 
ship during the late revolutions, and have beheld 
death around me in so many perilous and disas- 
trous scenes, that I have become in some meas- 
ure callous to its terrors. The frequent hazard 
of life makes a man at length as reckless of it as 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 369 

a gambler of his money. To their threat of 
death, I replied, " that the sooner it was executed 
the better." . This reply seemed to astonish the 
captain ; and the prospect of ransom held out by 
the laborers had, no doubt, a still greater effect 
on him. He considered for a moment, assumed a 
calmer manner, and made a sign to his compan- 
ions, who had remained waiting for my death- 
warrant. " Forward ! " said he ; " we will see 
about this matter by and by ! " 

We descended rapidly towards the road of La 
Molara, which leads to Rocca Priori. In the 
midst of this road is a solitary inn. The captain 
ordered the troop to halt at the distance of a pis- 
tol-shot from it, and enjoined profound silence. 
He approached the threshold alone, with noiseless 
steps. He examined the outside of the door very 
narrowly, and then returning precipitately, made 
a sign for the troop to continue its march in si- 
lence. It has since been ascertained, that this 
was one of those infamous inns which are the 
secret resorts of banditti. The innkeeper had an 
understanding with the captain as he most prob- 
ably had with the chiefs of the different bands. 
When any of the patroles and gens-d'armes were 
quartered at his house, the brigands were warned 
of it by a preconcerted signal on the door ; when 
there was no such signal, they might enter with 
Jiafety, and be sure of welcome. 

After pursuing our road a little further, we 

struck off towards the woody mountains which 

tnvelop Kocca Priori. Our march was long 

s[»J painful ; with many circuits and windings 
24 



370 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

at length we clambered a steep ascent, covered 
with a thick forest ; and when we had reached 
the centre, I was told to seat myself on the 
ground. No sooner had I done so than, at a sign 
from their chief, the robbers surrounded me, and 
spreading their great cloaks from one to the other, 
formed a kind of pavilion of mantles, to which 
their bodies might be said to serve as columns. 
The captain then struck a light, and a flambeau 
was lit immediately. The mantles were extended 
to prevent the light of the flambeau from being 
seen through the forest. Anxious as was my 
situation, I could not look round upon this screen 
of dusky drapery, relieved by the bright colors 
of the robbers' garments, the gleaming of their 
weapons, and the variety of strong marked coun- 
tenances, lit up by the flambeau, without admir- 
ing the picturesque ejQTect of the scene. It was 
quite theatrical. 

The captain now held an inkhorn, and giving 
me pen and paper, ordered me to write what he 
should dictate. I obeyed. It was a demand, 
couched in the style of robber eloquence, " that 
the Prince should send three thousand dollars for 
my ransom ; or that my death should be the con- 
sequence of a refusal." 

I knew enough of the desperate character of 
these beings to feel assured this was not an idle 
menace. Their only mode of insuring attention 
to their demands is to make the infliction of the 
penalty inevitable. I saw at once, however, that 
the demand was preposterous, and made in im 
proper language 



THE PAIN TEWS ADVENTURE. 37 i 

I told the captain so, and assured him that so 
extravagant a sum would never be granted. — 
" That I was neither a friend nor relative of the 
Prince, but a mere artist, employed to execute 
certain paintings. That I had nothing to offer as 
a ransom, but the price of my labors ; if this were 
not sufficient, my life was at their disposal ; it 
was a thing on which I set but little value." 

I was the more hardy in my reply, because I 
saw that coolness and hardihood had an effect up- 
on the robbers. It is true, as I finished speaking, 
the captain laid his hand upon his stiletto ; but 
he restrained himself, and snatching the letter, 
folded it, and ordered me, in a peremptory tone, 
to address it to the Prince. He then dispatched 
one of the laborers with it to Tusculum, who 
promised to return with all possible speed. 

The robbers now prepared themselves for sleep, 
and I was told that I might do the same. They 
spread their great cloaks on the ground, and lay 
down around me. One was stationed at a little 
distance to keep watch, and was relieved every 
two hours. The strangeness and wildness of this 
mountain bivouac among lawless beings, whose 
hands seemed ever ready to grasp the stiletto, and 
with whom life was so trivial and insecure, was 
enough to banish repose. The coldness of the 
earth, and of the dew, however, had a still greater 
effect than mental causes in disturbing my rest. 
The airs wafted to these mountains from the dis- 
tant Mediterranean diffused a great chilliness as 
the night advanced. An expedient suggested it- 
self. I called one of my fellow-prisoners, tlie la- 



372 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 

borers, and made him lie down beside me. When- 
ever one of my limbs became chilled, I approached 
it to the robust limb of my neighbor, and bor- 
rowed some of his warmtli. In this way I was 
able to obtain a little sleep. 

Day at length dawned, and I was roused fronj 
my slumber by the voice of the chieftain. He de- 
sired me to rise and follow him. I obeyed. On 
considering his physiognomy attentively, it ap- 
peared a little softened. He even assisted me in 
scrambling up the steep forest, among rocks and 
brambles. Habit had made him a vigorous 
mountaineer ; but I found it excessively toilsome 
to climb these rugged heights. We arrived at 
length at the summit of the mountain. 

Here it was that I felt all the enthusiasm of 
my art suddenly awakened ; and I forgot in an 
instant all my perils and fatigues at this magnifi- 
cent view of the sunrise in the midst of the moun- 
tains of the Abruzzi. It was on these heis^hts 
that Hannibal first pitched his camp, and pointed 
out Rome to his followers. The eye embraces a 
vast extent of country. The minor height of 
Tusculum, with its villas and its sacred ruins, lie 
below ; the Sabine Hills and the Albanian Moun- 
tains stretch on either hand ; and beyond Tuscu- 
lum and Frascati spreads out the immense Cani- 
pagna, with its lines of tombs, and here and thei'e 
a broken aqueduct stretching across it, and the 
towers and domes of the eternal city in the midst. 

Fancy this scene lit up by the glories of a ris- 
ing sun, and bursting upon my sight as I looked 
forth fi'om among the majestic forests of the 



THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 373 

A-bruzzi. Fancy, too, the savage foreground, made 
still more savage by groups of banditti, armed and 
dressed in their wild picturesque manner, and you 
will not w^onder that the enthusiasm of a painter 
for a moment overpowered all his other feelings. 

The banditti were astonished at my admiration 
of a scene which familiarity had made so common 
in their eyes. I took advantage of their halting 
at this spot, drew forth a quire of drawing-paper, 
and began to sketch the features of the landscape. 
The height on which I was seated was wild and 
solitary, separated from the ridge of Tuscuhim by 
a valley nearly three miles wide, though the dis- 
tance appeared less from the purity of the atmos- 
phere. This height was one of the favorite re- 
treats of the banditti, commanding a look-out over 
the country ; while at the same time it was cov- 
ered with forests, and distant from the populous 
haunts of men. 

While I was sketching, my attention was called 
off for a moment by the cries of birds, and the 
bleatings of sheep. I looked around, but could 
see nothing of the animals which uttered them 
They were repeated, and appeared to come from 
the summits of the trees. On looking more nar- 
rowly, I perceived six of the robbers perched in 
the tops of oaks, which grew on the breezy crest 
of the mountain, and commanded an uninterrupted 
prospect. They were keeping a look-out like so 
many vultures ; casting their eyes into the depths 
of the valley below us ; communicating with each 
other by signs, or holding discourse in sounds 
which might be mistaken by the wayfarer for the 



S74 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

cries of hawks and crows, or the bleating of the 
mountain flocks. After they had reconnoitred 
the neighborhood, and finished their smgular dis- 
course, they descended from their airy perch, and 
returned to their prisoners. The captain posted 
three of them at tiiree naked sides of the moun- 
tain, while he remained to guard us with what 
appeared his most trusty companion. 

I had my book of sketches in my hand ; he 
requested to see it, and after having run his eye 
over it, expressed himself convinced of the truth 
of my assertion that I was a painter. I thought 
I saw a gleam of good feeling dawning in him, 
and determined to avail myself of it. I . knew 
that the worst of men have their good points and 
their accessible sides, if one would but study them 
carefully. Indeed, there is a singular mixture in 
the character of the Italian robber. With reck- 
less ferocity he often mingles traits of kindness 
and good-humor. He is not always radically bad ; 
but driven to his course of life by some unpre- 
meditated crime, the effect of those sudden bursts 
of passion to which the Italian temperament is 
prone. This has compelled him to take to the 
mountains, or, as it is technically termed among 
them, " andare in campagna." He has become a 
robber by profession ; but, like a soldier, when 
not in action he can lay aside his weapon and his 
fierceness, and become like other men. 

I took occasion, from the observations of the 
captain on my sketchings, to fall into conversation 
with him, and found him sociable and communi- 
eative. By degrees I became completely at my 



THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 375 

ease with him. I had fancied I perceived about 
him a degree of self-love, which I determined to 
make use of. I assumed an air of careless frank 
ness, and told him, that, as an artist, I pretended 
to the power of judging of the physiognomy ; that 
I thought I perceived something in his features 
and demeanor which announced him worthy of 
higher fortunes ; that he was not formed to exer- 
cise the profession to which he had abandoned 
himself; that he had talents and qualities fitted 
for a nobler sphere of action ; that he had but 
to change his course of life, and, in a legitimate 
career, the same courage and endowments which 
now made him an object of terror, would assure 
him the applause and admiration of society. 

] had not mistaken my man ; my discourse 
both touched and excited him. He seized my 
hand, pressed it, and replied with strong emo- 
tion, " You have guessed the truth ; you have 
judged of me rightly." He remained for a mo- 
ment silent ; then, with a kind of effort, he re- 
sumed, — "I will tell you some particulars of my 
life, and you will perceive that it was the oppres- 
sion of others, rather than my own crimes, which 
drove me to the mountains. I sought to serve my 
fellow-men, and they have persecuted me from 
among them." We seated ourselves on the grass, 
and the robber gave me the following anecdotes 
of his history. 





THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 




AM a native of the village of Prossedi. 
My father was easy enough in circum- 
stasnces, and we lived peaceably and in- 
dependently, cultivating our fields. All went 
on well with us, until a new chief of the Sbirri 
was sent to our village to take command of the 
police. He was an arbitrary fellow, prying into 
everything, and practising all sorts of vexations 
and oppressions in the discharge of his office. I 
was at that time eighteen years of age, and had 
a natural love of justice and good neighborhood. 
I had also a little education, and knew something 
of history, so as to be able to judge a little of 
men and their actions. All this inspired me with 
hatred for this paltry despot. My own family, 
also, became the object of his suspicion or dislike, 
and felt more than once the arbitrary abuse of his 
power. These things worked together in my 
mind, and I gasped after vengeance. My char- 
acter was always ardent and energetic, and, acted 
upon by the love of justice, determined me, by 
3ne blow, to rid the country of the tyrant. 

Full of my project, I rose one morning before 
peep of day, and concealing a stiletto under my 



TEE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. 377 

waistcoat, — here you see it ! — (and he drew 
forth a loi.g, keen poniard,) I lay in wait for him 
in the outskirts of the village. I knew all his 
haunts, and his habit of making his rounds and 
prowling about like a wolf in the gray of the 
morning;. At length I met him, and attacked him 
with fury. He was armed, but I took him una- 
wares, and was full of youth and vigor. I gave 
him repeated blows to make sure work, and laid 
him lifeless at my feet. 

When I was satisfied that I had done for him, 
I returned with all haste to the village, but had 
the ill luck to meet two of the Sbirri as I en- 
tered it. They accosted me, and asked if I had 
seen their chief. I assumed an air of tranquillity, 
and told them I had not. They continued on 
their way, and within a few hours brought back 
the dead body to Prossedi. Their suspicions of 
me being already awakened, I was arrested and 
thrown into prison. Here I lay several weeks, 
when the Prince, who was Seigneur of Prossedi, 
directed judicial proceedings against me. I was 
brought to trial, and a witness was produced, who 
pretended to have seen me flying with precipita- 
tion not far from the bleeding body ; and so I 
was condemned to the galleys for thirty years. 

" Curse on such laws ! " vociferated the bandit, 
foaming with rage : " Curse on such a govern- 
ment ! and ten thousand curses on the Prince 
who caused me to be adjudged so rigorously, 
while so many other Roman Princes harbor and 
protect assassins a thousand times more culpable! 
ViThat had I done bvt what was inspired by a 



378 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

love of justice and my country ? Why was my 
act more culpable than that of Brutus, when he 
sacrificed Ccesar to the cause of liberty and jus- 
tice ? " 

There was something at once both lofty and 
ludicrous in the rhapsody of this robber chief, 
thus associating himself with one of the great 
names of antiquity. It showed, however, that 
he had at least the merit of knowino; the remark- 
able facts in the history of his country. He 
became more calm, and resumed his narrative. 

I was conducted to Civita Vecchia in fetters. 
My heart was burning with rage. I had been 
married scarce six months to a woman whom I 
passionately loved, and who was pregnant. My 
family was in despair. For a long time I made 
unsuccessful efforts to break my chain. At length 
I found a morsel of iron, which I hid carefully, 
and endeavored, with a pointed flint, to fashion it 
into a kind of file. I occupied myself in this 
work during the night-time, and when it was fin- 
ished, I made out, after a long time, to sever one 
of the rings of my chain. My flight was suc- 
cessfuL 

I wandered for several weeks in the mountains 
which surround Prossedi, and found means to 
inform my wife of the place where I was concealed. 
She came often to see me. I had determined to 
put myself at the head of an armed band. She 
endeavored, for a long time, to dissuade me, but 
finding my resolution fixed, she at length united 
in my project of vengeance, and brought me, 
bei'self, my poniard. By her means I comrau- 



TEE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. 379 

nicated with several brave fellows of the neigh- 
boring villages, whom I knew to be ready to take 
to the mountains, and only panting for an oppor- 
tunity to exercise their daring spirits. We soon 
formed a combination, procured arms, and we 
have had ample opportunities of revenging our- 
selves for the wrongs and injuries which most of 
us have suffered. Everything has succeeded with 
us until now ; and had it not been for our blunder 
in mistaking you for the Prince, our fortunes 
would have been made. 

Here the robber concluded his story. He had 
talked himself into complete companionship, and 
assured me he no longer bore me any grudge for 
the error of which I had been the innocent cause. 
He even professed a kindness for me, and wished 
me to remain some time with them. He prom- 
ised to give me a sight of certain grottos which 
they occupied beyond Yilletri, and whither they 
resorted during the intervals of their expeditions. 

He assured me that they led a jovial life there ; 
had plenty of good cheer ; slept on beds of moss ; 
and were waited upon by young and beautiful 
females, whom I might take for models. 

I confess I felt my curiosity roused by his 
descriptions of the grottos and their inhabitants : 
they realized those scenes in robber story which 
I had always looked upon as mere creations of 
the fancy. I should gladly have accepted his in- 
vitation, and paid a visit to these caverns, could I 
have felt more secure in my company. 

I began to find my situation less painful. I 
had evidently propitiated the good -will of the 



580 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

chieftain, and hoped that he might release me 
for a moderate ransom. A new alarm, however, 
awaited me. While the captain was looking out 
with impatience for the return of the messenger, 
who had been sent to the Prince, the sentinel 
posted on the side of the mountain facing the 
plain of La Molara came running towards us. 
'* We are betrayed ! " exclaimed he. " The po- 
lice of Frascati are after us. A party of carabi- 
neers have just stopped at the inn below the 
mountain." Then, laying his hand on his sti- 
letto, he swore, with a terrible oath, that if they 
made the least movement towards the mountain, 
my life and the lives of my fellow-prisoners should 
answer for it. 

The chieftain resumed all his ferocity of de- 
meanor, and approved of what his companion 
said; but when the latter had returned to his 
post, he turned to me with a softened air : " I 
must act as chief," said he, " and humor my dan- 
gerous subalterns. It is a law with us to kill 
our prisoners rather than suffer them to be res- 
cued ; but do not be alarmed. In case we are 
surprised, keep by me ; fly with us, and I will 
consider myself responsible for your life." 

There was notliing yery consolatory in this 
arrangement, which would have placed me between 
two dangers. I scarcely knew, in case of flight, 
from which I should have the most to apprehend, 
the carbines of the pursuers, or the stilettos of the 
pursued. I remained silent, however, and endeav- 
ored to maintain a look of tranquillity. 

For an hour was I kept in this state of peril 



THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 381 

and anxiety. The robbers, crouching among 
their leafy coverts, kept an eagle watch npon 
the carabineers below, as they loitered about the 
inn ; sometimes lolling about the portal ; some- 
times disappearing for several minutes ; then sal 
lying out, examining their weapons, pointing in 
diiferent directions, and apparently asking ques 
tions about the neighborhood. Not a movement, 
a gesture, was lost upon the keen eyes of the brig- 
ands. At leno^th we were relieved from our 
apprehensions. The carabineers having finished 
their refreshment, seized their arms, continued 
along the vpJley towards tlie great road, and grad- 
ually left the mountain behind them. " I felt 
almost certain," said the chief, " that they could 
not be sent after us. They know too well 
how prisoners have fared in our hands on simi- 
lar occasions. Our laws in this respect are in- 
flexible, and are necessary for our safety. If we 
once flinched from them, there would no longer 
be such a thing as a ransom to be procured." 

There were no signs yet of the messenger's 
return. I was preparing to resume my sketch- 
ing, when the captain drew a quire of paper from 
his knapsack. " Come," said he, laughing, " you 
are a painter, — take my likeness. The leaves 
of your portfolio are small, — draw it on this." 
I gladly consented, for it was a study that seldom 
presents itself to a painter. 1 recollected that 
Salvator Rosa in his youth had voluntarily so- 
journed for a time among the banditti of Cala- 
oria, and had filled his mind with the savage 
scenery and savage associates by which lie was 



382 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

surrounded. I seized my pencil with enthusiasm 
at the thought. I found the captain the most 
docile of subjects, and, after various shiftings of 
position, placed him in an attitude to my mind. 

Picture to yourself a stern muscular figure, in 
fanciful bandit costume ; with pistols and poniard 
in belt ; his brawny neck bare ; a handkerchief 
loosely thrown around it, and the two ends in 
front strung with rings of all kinds, the spoils of 
travellers ; relics and medals hanging on his 
breast ; his hat decorated with various colored 
ribbons ; his vest and short breeches of briglit 
colors, and finely embroidered ; his legs in bus- 
kins or leggins. Fancy him on a moimtain 
height, amonsT wild rocks and ru^rored oaks, lean- 
ing on his carbine, as if meditating some exploit ; 
while far below are beheld villages and villas, 
the scenes of his maraudings, with the wide Cam- 
pagna dimly extending in the distance. 

The robber was pleased with the sketch, and 
seemed to admire himself upon paper. I had 
scarcely finished, when the laborer arrived who 
had been sent for my ransom. He had reached 
Tusculum two hours after midnight. He had 
brought me a letter from the Prince, who was in 
bed at the time of his arrival. As I had pre- 
dicted, he treated the demand as extravagaiit, 
but offered five hundred dollars for my ransom. 
Having no money by him at tlie moment, he had 
sent a note for the amount, payable to whomso- 
ever should conduct me safe and sound to Rome. 
I presented the note of hand to the chieftain ; he 
received it with a shrug. " wliat u.«e are notes 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 383 

of hand to iis ? " said he. " Who can we send 
with you to Rome to receive it? We are all 
marked men; known and described at every gate, 
and military post, and village church-door. No ; 
we must have gold and silver ; let the sum be 
paid in cash, and you shall be restored to lib- 
erty." 

The captain again placed a sheet of paper be- 
fore me to communicate his determination to the 
Prince. When I had finished the letter, and 
took the sheet from the quire, I found on the op- 
posite side of it the portrait which I had just 
been tracing. I was about to tear it off and give 
it to the chief. 

" Hold ! " said he, " let it go to Rome ; let 
them see what kind of a looking fellow I am. 
Perhaps the Prince and his friends may form as 
good an opinion of me from my face as you have 
done." 

This was said sportively, yet it was evident 
there was vanity lurking at the bottom. Even 
this wary, distrustful chief of banditti forgot for 
a moment his usual foresight and precaution, in 
the common wish to be admired. He never re- 
flected what use might be made of this portrait 
in his pursuit and conviction. 

The letter was folded and directed, and the 
messenger departed again for Tusculum. It was 
now eleven o'clock in the morning, and as yet we 
had eaten nothing. In spite of all my anxiety, I 
began to feel a craving appetite. I was glad 
therefore to hear the captain talk something about 
eating. He observed that for three days and 



384 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

nights they had been hirking about among rocks 
and woods, meditating their expedition to Tuscu- 
lum, during which time all their provisions had 
been exhausted. He should now take measures 
to procure a supply. Leaving me, therefore, in 
charge of his comrade, in whom he appeared to 
have implicit confidence, he departed, assuring me 
that in less than two hours I should make a good 
dinner. Where it was to come from was an 
enio-ma to me, thous^h it was evident these beings 
had their secret friends and ao:ents thronsrhout the 
country. 

Indeed the inhabitants of these mountains, and 
of the valleys which they embosom, are a rude, 
half-civilized set. The towns and villages among 
the forests of the Abruzzi, shut up from the rest 
of the world, are almost like savage dens. It is 
wonderful that such rude abodes, so little known 
and visited, should be embosomed in the midst 
of one of the most travelled and civilized coun- 
tries of Europe. Among these regions the rob- 
ber prowls unmolested ; not a mountaineer hesi- 
tates to give him secret harbor and assistance. 
The shepherds, however, who tend their flocks 
among the mountains, are the favorite emissaries 
of the robbers, when they would send messages 
down to the valleys either for ransom or supplies. 

The shepherds of the Abruzzi are as wild as 
the scenes they frequent. They are clad in a 
rude garb of black or brown sheepskin ; they 
have high conical hats, and coarse sandals of 
cloth bound around their legs with thongs, simi- 
lar to those worn by tlie robbers. They carry 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 385 

long staves, ou which, as they lean, they form 
picturesque objects in the lonely landscape, and 
they are followed by their ever-constant compan- 
ion, the dog. They are a curious, questioning 
set, glad at any time to relieve the monotony of 
their solitude by the conversation of the passer-by ; 
and the dog will lend an attentive ear, and put 
Dn as sagacious and inquisitive a look as his 
master. 

But I am wandering from my story. I was 
now left alone with one of the robbers, the con- 
fidential companion of the chief. He was the 
youngest and most vigorous of the band ; and 
thouo-h his countenance had something of that dis- 
solute fierceness which seems natural to this des- 
perate, la^vdess mode of life, yet there were traces 
of manly beauty about it. As an artist I could 
not but admire it. I had remarked in him an air 
of abstraction and reverie, and at times a move- 
ment of inward suffering and impatience. He 
now sat on the ground, his elbows on his knees, 
his head resting between his clenched lists, and 
his eyes fixed on the earth with an expression of 
sadness and bitter rumination. I had grown fa- 
miliar with him from repeated conversations, and 
had found him superior in mind to the rest of the 
band. I was anxious to seize any opportunity 
of sounding: the feelino-s of these sinjxular beinnjs. 
I fancied 1 read in the countenance of this one 
traces of self-condemnation and remorse ; and the 
ease with which I had drawn forth the confidence 
of the chieftain, encouraged me to . hope the same 
with his follower. 
25 



386 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

After a little preliminary conversation, 1 ven- 
tured to ask him if he did not feel rearret at hav- 
ing abandoned his family, and taken to this dan- 
gerous profession. " I feel," replied he, " but one 
regret, and that will end only with my life." * 

As he said this, he pressed his clenched fistg 
upon his bosom, drew his breath through his sel 
teeth, and added, with a deep emotion, " I have 
something Avithin here that stifles me ; it is like a 
burning iron consuming my very heart. I could 
tell you a miserable story — but not now — 
another time." 

He relapsed into his former position, and sat 
with his head between his hands, muttering to 
himself in broken ejaculations, and what appeared 
at times to be curses and maledictions. I saw he 
was not in a mood to be disturbed, so I left him 
to himself. In a little while the exhaustion of his 
feelings, and probably the fatigues he had under- 
gone in this expedition, began to produce drow- 
siness. He struggled with it for a time, but the 
warmth and stillness of mid-day made it irresist- 
ible, and he at length stretched himself upon the 
herbage and fell asleep. 

I now beheld a chance of escape within my 
reach. My guard lay before me at my mercy. 
His vigorous limbs relaxed by sleep — his bosom 
open for the blow — his carbine slipped from his 
nerveless grasp, and lying by liis side — his sti- 
letto half out of the pocket in which it was usu- 
ally carried. Two only of his comrades were in 
sight, and those at a considerable distance on the 
edge of the mountain, their backs turned to us. 



THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 387 

and their attention occupied in keeping a lookout 
upon the plain. Through a strip of intervening 
forest, and at the foot of a steep descent, I beheld 
the villao-e of Rocca Priori. To have secured 
the carbine of the sleeping brigand ; to have 
seized upon his poniard, and have plunged it in 
his heart, would have been the work of an in- 
stant. Should he die without noise, I might dart 
through the forest, and down to Rocca Priori be- 
fore my flight might be discovered. In case of 
alarm, I should still have a fair start of the rob- 
bers, and a chance of getting beyond the reach 
of their shot. 

Here then was an opportunity for both escape 
and vengeance ; perilous indeed, but powerfully 
tempting. Had my situation been more critical, 
I could not have resisted it. I reflected, however, 
for a moment. The attempt, if successful, would 
be followed by the sacrifice of my two fellow- 
prisoners, who were sleeping profoundly, and 
could not be awakened in time to escape. The 
laborer who had gone after the ransom might 
also fall a victim to the rage of the robbers, with- 
out the money which he brought being saved. 
Besides, the conduct of the chief towards me made 
me feel confident of speedy deliverance. These 
reflections overcame the first powerful impulse, 
and I calmed the turbulent asfitation which it 
bad awakened. 

I again took out my materials for drawing, and 
amused myself with sketching the magnificent 
prospect. It was now about noon, and everything 
had sunk into repose, like the sleeping bandit be 



838 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

fore me. The noontide stillness that reigned 
ovei these mountains, the vast hindscape below 
gleaming with distant towns, and dotted with va 
rious habitations and signs of life, yet all so si- 
lent, had a powerful effect upon my mind. The 
intermediate valleys, too, which lie among tlie 
mountains, have a peculiar air of solitude. Few 
Bounds are heard at mid-day to break the quiet 
of the scene. Sometimes the whistle of .a soli- 
tary muleteer, lagging with his lazy animal along 
the road which winds through the centre of the 
valley ; sometimes the faint piping of a shepherd's 
reed from the side of the mountain, or sometimes 
the bell of an ass slowly pacing along, followed 
by a monk with bare feet, and bare, shining head, 
and carrying provisions to his convent. 

I' had continued to sketch for some time among 
my sleeping companions, when at length I saw 
the captain of the band approaching, followed 
by a peasant leading a mule, on which was a 
well-filled sack. I at first apprehended that this 
was some new prey fallen into the hands of tlie 
robber ; but the contented look of the peasant 
soon relieved me, and I was rejoiced to hear that 
it was our promised repast. The brigands now 
came running from the three sides of the moun- 
tain, having the quick scent of vultures. Eveiy 
one busied himself in unloading the mule, and 
relieving the sack of its contents. 

The first thing that made its appearance was 
an enormous ham, of a color and plumpness that 
would have inspired the pencil of Teniers ; it was 
followed by a large cheese, a bag of boiled cJicst- 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 389 

nuts, a little barrel of wine, and a quantity of 
good household bread. Everything was arranged 
on the grass with a degree of symmetry ; and 
the captain, presenting me with his knife, re- 
quested me to help myself. We all seated 
ourselves around the viands, and nothing was 
heard for a time but the sound of vigorous mas- 
tication, or the gurgling of the barrel of wine as 
it revolved briskly about the circle. My long 
fasting, and mountain air and exercise, had given 
me a keen appetite ; and never did repast appear 
to me more excellent or picturesque. 

From time to time one of the band was 
dispatched to keep a lookout upon the plain. 
No enemy was at hand, and the dinner was un- 
disturbed. The peasant received nearly three 
times the value of his provisions, and set off down 
the mountain highly satisfied with his bargain. 
I felt invigorated by the hearty meal I had made, 
and notwithstanding that the wound I had received 
the evening before was painful, yet I could not 
but feel extremely interested and gratified by the 
singular scenes continually presented to me. 
Everything was picturesque about these wild be- 
ings and their haunts. Their bivouacs ; their 
groups on guard ; their indolent noontide repose 
on the mountain-brow ; their rude repast on the 
herbage among rocks and trees ; everything pre- 
sented a study for a painter : but it was towards 
the approach of evening that I felt the highest 
enthusiasm awakened. 

The setting sun, declining beyond the vast Cam- 
pagna, shed its rich yellow beams on the woody 



890 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

summit of the Abruzzi. Several mountaiua 
cit)wned with snow shone brilliantly in the dis- 
tance, contrasting their brightness with others, 
which, thrown into shade, assumed deep tints of 
purple and violet. As the evening advanced, the 
landscape darkened into a sterner character. 
The immense solitude around ; the wild moun- 
tains broken into rocks and precipices, intermin- 
gled with vast oaks, corks, and chestnuts ; and 
the groups of banditti in the foreground, reminded 
me of the savage scenes of Salvator E-osa. 

To beguile the time, the captain proposed to 
his comrades to spread before me their jewels and 
cameos, as I must doubtless be a judge of such 
articles, and able to form an estimate of their 
value. He set the example, the others followed 
it ; and in a few moments I saw the grass before 
me sparkling with jewels and gems that would 
have delighted the eyes of an antiquary or a fine 
lady. 

Among them were several precious jewels 
and antique intaglios and cameos of great value , 
the spoils, doubtless, of travellers of distinction. 
I found that they were in the habit of selling 
their booty in the frontier towns ; but as these, 
in general, were thinly and poorly peopled, and 
little frequented by travellers, they could offer no 
market for such valuable articles of taste and lux- 
ury. I suggested to them the certainty of their 
readily obtaining great prices for these gems 
amons: the rich strano:ers with whom Rome was 
thronged. 

TJie impression made upon their greedy minds 



TUE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 391 

was immediately apparent. One of the band, a 
young man, and the least known, requested per- 
mission of the captain to depart the following day, 
in disguise, for Rome, for the purpose of traffic ; 
promising, on the faith of a bandit, (a sacred 
pledge among them,) to return in two days to any 
place that he miglit appoint. The captain con- 
sented, and a curious scene took place ; the rob- 
bers crowded round him eagerly, confiding to him 
such of their jewels as they wished to dispose of, 
and giving him instructions what to demand. 
There was much bargainino- and exchano-ino; and 
selling of trinkets among them ; and I beheld my 
watch, which had a chain and valuable seals, pur- 
chased by the young robber-merchant of the ruf- 
fian who had plundered me, for sixty dollars. I 
now conceived a faint hope, that if it went to 
Rome, I might somehow or other regain posses- 
sion of it.* 

In the mean time day declined, and no mes- 
senger returned from Tusculum. The idea of 
passing another night in the woods was extremely 
disheartening, for I began to be satisfied with 
what I had seen of robber-life. The chieftain 
now ordered his men to follow him, that he might 
station them at their posts ; adding, that, if the 
messenger did not return before night, they must 
shift their quarters to some other place. 

* The hopes of the artist were not disappointed : the rob- 
ber was stopped at one of the gates of Rome. Something in 
his looks or deportment had excited suspicion. He was 
searched, and the valuable trinkets found on him sufficiently 
evinced his character. On applying to the police, the artist's 
watch was returned to him. 



392 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

I was again left alone with the young bandit 
who had before guarded me ; he had the same 
gloomy air and haggard eye, with now and then 
a bitter sardonic smile. I determined to probe 
this ulci^-rated heart, and reminded him of a kind 
promise he had given me to tell me the cause 
of his sufferinof. It seemed to me as if these 
troubled spirits were glad of any opportunity to 
disburden themselves, and of havinsr some fresh, 
undiseased mind, with which they could comr^u- 
nicate. I had hardly made the request, w'^en 
he seated himself by my side, and gave me his 
Btory in, as near as I can recollect, the fol> w- 
ing words. 




THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER. 




i WAS born in the little town of Fro- 
wliich lies at the skirts of the 



smone, 

Abruzzi. My father had made a little 
property in trade, and gave me some education, 
as he intended me for the Church ; but I had 
kept gay company too much to relish the cowl, 
so I grew up a loiterer about the place. I was 
a heedless fellow, a little quarrelsome on occasion, 
but good-humored in the main ; so I made my 
way very well for a time, until I fell in love. 
There lived in our town a surveyor or land-bail- 
iff of the Prince, who had a young daughter, a 
beautiful girl of sixteen ; she was looked upon as 
something better than the common run of our 
townsfolk, and was kept almost entirely at home. 
I saw her occasionally, and became madly in 
love with her — she looked so fresh and tender, 
and so different from the sunburnt females to 
whom I had been accustomed. 

As my father kept me in money, I always 
dressed well, and took all opportunities of show- 
ing myself off to advantage in the eyes of the 
little beauty. I used to see her at church ; and 
as I could play a little upon the guitar, I gave a 
tune sometimes under her window of an evening ; 



394 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

and 1 tried to have interviews with her in her 
father's vineyard, not far from the town, where 
she sometimes walked. She was evidently pleased 
with me, but she was young and shy ; and her 
father kept a strict eye upon her, and took alarm 
at my attentions, for he had a bad opinion of me, 
and looked for a better match for his daughter. 
I became furious at the difficulties thrown in my 
way, having been accustomed always to easy suc- 
cess among the women, being considered one of 
the smartest young fellows of the place. 

Her father brought home a suitor for her, — a 
rich farmer from a neighboring town. The wed- 
ding-day was appointed, and preparations were 
making. I got sight of her at the window, and 
I thought she looked sadly at me. I determined 
the match should not take place, cost what it 
might. I met her intended bridegroom in the 
market-place, and could not restrain the expres- 
sion of my rage. A few hot words passed between 
us, when I drew my stiletto and stabbed him to 
the heart. I fled to a neighboring church for 
refuge, and with a little money I obtained abso- 
lution, but I did not dare to venture from my 
asylum. 

At that time our captain was forming his troop. 
He had known me from boyhood ; and hearing 
of my situation, came to me in secret, and made 
such offers, that I agreed to enroll myself among 
his followers. Indeed, I had more than once 
thought of taking to this mode of life, having 
known several brave fellows of the mountains, 
who used to spend their money freely among us 



THE YOUNG ROBBER. 395 

youngsters of the town. I accordingly left my 
asylum late one night, repaired to the appointed 
place of meeting, took the oaths prescribed, and 
became one of the troop. We were for some 
time in a distant part of the mountains, and our 
wild adventurous kind of life hit my fancy won- 
derfully, and diverted my thoughts. At length 
they returned with all their violence to the rec- 
ollection of Rosetta ; the solitude in which I often 
found myself gave me time to brood over her 
image ; and, as I have kept watch at night over 
our sleeping camp in the mountains, my feelings 
have been aroused almost to a fever. 

At length we shifted our ground, and deter- 
mined to make a descent upon the road between 
Terracina and Naples. In the course of our ex- 
pedition we passed a day or two in the woody 
mountains which rise above Frosinone. I cannot 
tell you how I felt when I looked down upon 
that place, and distinguished the residence of 
Rosetta. I determined to have an interview 
with her ; — but to what purpose ? I could not 
expect that she would quit her home, and accom- 
pany me in my hazardous life among the moun- 
tains. She had been brought up too tenderly 
for that ; when I looked upon the women who 
were associated with some of our troop, I could 
not have borne the thoughts of her being their 
companion. All return to my former life was 
likewise hopeless, for a price was set upon my 
head. Still I determined to see her ; the very 
hazard and fruitlessness of the thing made mo 
fiirious to accomplish it. 



396 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

About three weeks since, I persuaded our cap" 
tain to draw down to the vicinity of Frosinone, 
suggesting the chance of entrapping some of its 
principal inhabitants, and compelling them to a 
ransom. We were lying in ambush towards 
evening, not far from the vineyard of Rosetta's 
father. I stole quietly from my companions, and 
drew near to reconnoitre the place of her frequent 
walks. ^ How my heart beat when among the 
vines I beheld the gleaming of a wliite dress ! 
I knew it must be Rosetta's ; it being rare for 
any female of that place to dress in white. I 
advanced secretly and without noise, until, put- 
ting aside the vines, I stood suddenly before her. 
She uttered a piercing shriek, but I seized her 
in my arms, put my hand upon her mouth, and 
conjured her to be silent. I poured out all the 
frenzy of my passion ; offered to renounce my 
mode of life ; to put my fate in her hands ; to fly 
where we might live in safety together. All that 
I could say or do would not pacify her. Instead 
of love, horror and affright seemed to have taken 
possession of her breast. She struggled partly 
from my grasp, and filled the air with her cries. 

In an instant the captain and the rest of my 
companions were around us. I would have given 
anything at that moment had she been safe out 
of our hands, and in her father's house. It was 
too late. The captain pronounced her a prize, 
and ordered that slie should be borne to the 
mountains. I represented to him that she was 
my prize ; that I had a previous claim to her ; 
and I mentioned my former attachment. He 



TEE YOUNG ROBBER. 397 

sneered bitterly in reply ; observed that brigands 
had no business with village intrigues, and that, 
according to the laws of the troop, all spoils of 
tlie kind were determined by lot. Love and 
jealousy were raging in my heart, but I had to 
choose between obedience and death. I surren- 
dered her to the captain, and we made for the 
mountains. 

She was overcome by affright, and her steps 
were so feeble and faltering that it was necessary 
to support her. I could not endure the idea that 
my comrades should touch her, and assuming a 
forced tranquillity, begged she might be confided 
to me, as one to whom she was more accustomed. 
The captain regarded me, for a moment, with a 
searching look, but I bore it without flinching, 
and he consented. I took her in my arms , she 
was almost senseless. Her head rested on my 
shoulder ; I felt her breath on my face, and it 
seemed to fan the flame which devoured me. 
Oh God ! to have this glo"\ving treasure in my 
arms, and yet to think it was not mine ! 

We arrived at the foot of the mountain ; I 
asc^ended it with difficulty, particularly where the 
woods were thick, but I would not relinquish my 
delicious burden. I reflected with rage, however, 
that I must soon do so. The thoughts tliat so 
delicate a creature nuist be abandoned to my rude 
companions maddened me. 1 felt tempted, the 
stiletto in my hand, to cut my way through them 
all, and bear her off in triumph. I scarcely con- 
ceived the idea before I saw its rashness ; but 
Qiy bi'ain was fevered with the thought that any 



398 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

but myself should enjoy her charms. J endeav- 
ored to outstrip my companipns by the quick- 
ness of my movements, and to get a little distance 
ahead, in case any favoz'able opportunity of 
escape should present. Vain effort ! The voice 
of the captain suddenly ordered a halt. I trem- 
bled, but had to obey. The poor girl partly 
opened a languid eye, but was, without strength 
or motion. I laid her upon the grass. The caj)- 
tain darted on me a terrible look of suspicion, 
and ordered me to scour the woods with my com- 
panions in search of some shepherd, who might 
be sent to her father's to demand a ransom. 

I saw at once the peril. To resist with vio- 
lence was certain death, but to leave her alone, 
in the power of the captain ! — I spoke out then 
with a fervor, inspired by my passion and by 
despair. I reminded the captain that I was the 
first to seize her ; that she was my prize ; and 
that my previous attachment to her ought to 
make her sacred among my companions. I in- 
sisted, therefore, that he should pledge me his 
word to respect her, otherwise I would refuse 
obedience to his orders. His only reply was to 
cock his carbine, and at the signal my comrades 
did the same. They laughed with cruelty at my 
impotent rage. What could I do ? I felt the 
madness of resistance. I was menaced on all 
nands, and my companions obliged me to follow 
them. She remained alone with the chief — yes, 
alone — and almost lifeless ! — • 

Here the robber paused in his recital, over- 
powered by his emotions. Great drops of sweat 



THE YOUNG ROBBER. 399 

Stood on his forehead ; he panted ratner than 
breathed ; his brawny bosom rose and fell like 
the waves of the troubled sea. When he had 
become a little calm, he continued his recital. 

I was not long in iinding a shepherd, said he- 
I ran with the rapidity of a deer, eager, if possi- 
ble, to get back before what I dreaded might 
take place. I had left my companions far behind, 
and I rejoined them before they had reached one 
half the distance I had made. I hurried them 
back to the place Avhere we had left the captain. 
As we approached, I beheld him seated by the 
side of Rosetta. His triumphant look, and tne 
desolate condition of the unfortunate girl, left me 
no doubt of her fate. I know not how I ref- 
strained my fury. 

It was with extreme difficulty, and by guiding 
her hand, that she was made to trace a few char- 
acters, requesting her father to send three hun- 
dred dollars as her ransom. The letter was dis- 
patched by the shepherd. When he was gone, 
the chief turned sternly to me. " You have set 
an example," said he, " of mutiny and self-will, 
which, if indulged, would be ruinous to the troop. 
Had I treated you as our laws require,'this bullet 
would have been driven through your brain. 
But you are an old friend. I have borne pa- 
tiently with your fury and your folly. I have 
even protected you from a foolish passion that 
would have unmanned you. As to this girl, the 
laws of our association must have their course." 
So saying, he gave his commands : lots were 
drawn, and tlie helpless girl was abandoned to the 
troop. 



400 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Here tlie robber paused again, panting with 
fury, and it was some moments before he could 
resume his story. 

Hell, said Le, was raging in my heart. I beheUl 
the impossibility of avenging myself; and I felt 
that, according to the articles in wliich we stood 
bound to one another, the captain was in the 
right. I rushed with frenzy from the place ; 1 
threw myself upon the earth ; tore up the grass 
M ith my hands ; and beat my head and gnashed 
my teeth in agony and rage. When at length 
I returned, I beheld the wretched victim, pale, 
dishevelled, her dress torn and disordered. An 
emotion of pity, for a moment, subdued my 
fiercer feelings. I bore her to the foot of a tree, 
and leaned her gently against it. I took my 
gourd, which was filled with wine, and applying 
it to her lips, endeavored to make her swallow a 
little. To what a condition was she reduced ! 
she, whom I had once seen the pride of Frosi- 
none, whom but a short time before I had beheld 
sporthig in her father's vineyard, so fresh, and 
beautiful, and happy ! Her teeth were clenched ; 
her eyes fixed on the ground ; her form without 
motion, and in a state of absolute insensibility. 
I hung over her in an agony of recollection at all 
that she had been, and of anguish at what I now 
beheld her. 1 darted around a look of horror at 
my companions, who seemed like so many fiends 
exultinor in the downfall of an an<2;el ; and I felt 
a horror at being myself their accomplice. 

The captain, always suspicious, saw, with his 
usual penetration, wliat was passing within me, 



THE YOUNG ROBBER. 403 

and ordered me to go upon the ridge of the woods, 
to keep a lookout over the neighborhood, and 
await the return of the shepherd. I obeyed, of 
course, stifling the fury that raged within me, 
tliough I felt, for the moment, that he was my 
most deadly foe. 

On my way, however, a ray of reflection came 
across my mind. I perceived that the captain 
was but following, with strictness, the terrible 
laws to which we had sworn fidelity ; that the 
passion by which I had been blinded might, with 
justice, have been fatal to me, but for his for- 
bearance ; that he had penetrated my soul, and 
had taken precautions, by sending me out of the 
way, to prevent my committing any excess in my 
anger. From that instant I felt that I was 
capable of pardoning him. 

Occupied with these thoughts, I arrived at the 
foot of the mountain. The country was solitary 
and secure, and in a short time I beheld the 
shepherd at a distance crossing the plain. I hast- 
ened to meet him. He had obtained nothing. 
He had found the father plunged in the deepest 
distress. He had read the letter with violent 
emotion, and then, calming himself with a sudden 
exertion, he had replied coldly : " My daughter 
has been dishonored by those wretches ; let her 
be returned without ransom, — or let her die ! " 

I shuddered at this reply. I knew that, accord, 
ing to the laws of our troop, her death was in- 
evitable. Our oaths required it. I felt, never- 
theless, that, not having been able to have her to 
myself, I could be her executioner! 
26 



402 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

The robber again paused with agitation. 1 
sat musing upon his last frightful woi'ds, which 
proved to what excess the passions may be car- 
ried when escaped from all moral restraint. 
There was a horrible verity in this story that re- 
minded me of some of the tragic fictions of Danle. 

We now come to a fatal moment, resumed the 
bandit. After the report of the shepherd, I re- 
turned with him, and the chieftain received from 
his lips the refusal of her father. At a signal 
which we all understood, we followed him to 
some distance from the victim. He there pro- 
nounced her sentence of death. Every one 
stood ready to execute his orders, but I inter- 
fered. I observed that there was something due 
to pity as well as to justice ; that I was as 
ready as any one to approve the implacable law, 
which was to serve as a warning to all those who 
hesitated to pay the ransoms demanded for our 
prisoners ; but that though the sacrifice was prop- 
er, it ought to be made without cruelty. The 
night is approaching, continued I ; she will soon 
be wrapped in sleep ; let her then be dispatched. 
All I now claim on the score of former kindness 
is, let me strike the blow. I will do it as surely, 
though more tenderly than another. Several 
raised their voices against my proposition, but the 
captain imposed silence on them. He told me J 
might conduct her into a thicket at some distance, 
and he relied upon my promise. 

I hastened to seize upon my prey. There was 
B forlorn kind of triumph at' having at length 
become her exclusive possessor. I bore her off 



THE PAJNTEWS ADVENTURE. 403 

into the thickness of the forest. She remained in 
the same state of insensibility or stupor. I was 
thankful that she did not recollect me, for had she 
once miirmured mj name, I should have been 
ovei'come. She slept at length in the arms of 
him who was to poniard her. Many were the 
conflicts I underwent before I could bring myself 
to strike the blow. But my heart had become 
sore by the recent conflicts it had undergone, and 
I dreaded lest, by procrastination, some other 
should become her executioner. When her re- 
pose had continued for some time, I separated 
myself gently from her, that I might not disturb 
her sleep, and seizing suddenly my poniard, 
plunged it into her bosom. A painful and con- 
centrated murmur, but without any convulsive 
movement, accompanied her last sigh. — So per- 
ished this unfortunate ! 

He ceased to speak. I sat, horror-struck, 
covering my face with my hands, seeking, as it 
were, to hide from myself the frightful images he 
had presented to my mind. I was roused from 
this silence by the voice of the captain : " You 
sleep," said he, " and it is time to be off. Come, 
we must abandon this height, as night is setting 
in, and the messenger is not returned. I will 
post some one on the mountain edge to conduct 
him to the place where we shall pass the night." 

This was no agreeable news to me. I waa 
sick at heart with the dismal story I had heard. 
I was harassed and fatigued, and the sight of the 
banditti began to grow insupportable to me. 



404 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

The captain assembled his comrades. We 
rapidly descended the forest, which we had 
mounted with so much difficulty in the morning, 
and soon arrived in wliat appeared to be a fre- 
quented road. The robbers proceeded with great 
caution, carrying their guns cocked, and looking 
on every side with wary and suspicious eyes. 
They were apprehensive of encountering the 
civic patrole. We left Rocca Priori behind us. 
There was a fountain near by, and as I was ex- 
cessively thirsty, I begged permission to stop and 
drink. The captain himself went and brought 
me water in his hat. We pursued our route, 
when, at the extremity of an alley which crossed 
the road, I perceived a female on horseback, 
dressed in white. She was alone. I recollected 
the fate of the poor girl in the story, and trembled 
for her safety. 

One of the brigands saw her at the same in- 
stant, and plunging into the bushes, he ran pre- 
cipitately in the direction towards her. Stopping 
on the border of the alley, he put one knee to 
die ground, presented his carbine ready to menace 
her, or to shoot her horse if she attempted to fly, 
and in this way awaited her approach. I kept 
my eyes fixed on her with intense anxiety. I 
felt tempted to shout and warn her of her danger, 
though my own destruction would have been the 
consequence. It was awful to see this tiger 
crouching ready for a bound, and the poor inno- 
cent victim unconsciously near him. Nothing 
but a mere chance could save her. To my joy 
the chance turned in her favor. She seemed 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 405 

nlmost accidentally to take an opposite path, 
which led outside of the woods, where the robber 
dared not venture. To this casual deviation she 
OAved her safety. 

I could not imagine why the captain of tlie 
band had ventured to such a distance from tlio 
height on which he had placed the sentinel to 
watch the return of the messenger. He seemed 
himself anxious at the risk to which he exposed 
himself. His movements were rapid and uneasy ; 
I could scarce keep pace with him. At length, 
after three hours of what might be termed a 
forced march, we mounted the extremity of the 
same woods, the summit of which we had occu- 
pied dm'ing the day ; and I learnt witli satisfac- 
tion that we had reached our quarters for the 
night. " You must be fatigued," said the chief- 
tain ; " but it was necessary to survey the envi- 
rons so as not to be surprised during the night. 
Had we met with the famous civic guard of 
Rocca Priori, you would have seen fine sport." 
Such was the indefatigable precaution and fore- 
thought of this robber chief, who really gave con- 
tinual evidence of military talent. 

The nio;ht was magnificent. The moon, risincj 
above the horizon in a cloudless sky, faintly lit 
up the grand features of the mountain, while 
lights twinkling here and there, like terrestrial 
stars in the wide dusky expanse of the landscape, 
betrayed the lonely cabins of the shepherds. 
Exhausted by fatigue, and by the many agita- 
tions I had experienced, I prepared to sleep, 
soothed by the hope of approaching delivcranc(^ 



406 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

The captain ordered his companions to coUecl 
some dry moss ; he arranged with his own hands 
a kind of mattress and pillow of it, and gave me 
his ample mantle as a covering. I could not but 
feel both surprised and gratified by such unex- 
pected attentions on the part of this benevolent 
cut-throat ; for there is nothing more striking 
than to find the ordinary charities, which are 
matters of course in common life, flourishing by 
the side of such stern and sterile crime. It is 
like finding tender flowers and fresh herbage of 
the valley growing among the rocks and cinders 
of the volcano. 

Before I fell asleep I had some further dis- 
course with the captain, who seemed to feel great 
confidence in me. He referred to our previous 
conversation of the morning ; told me he was 
weary of his hazardous profession ; that he had 
acquired sufficient property, and was anxious to 
return to the world, and lead a peaceful life in 
the bosom of his family. He wished to know 
whether it was not in my power to procure for 
him a passport to the United States of America. 
I applauded his good intentions, and promised to 
do everything in my power to promote its suc- 
cess. We then parted for the night. I stretched 
myself upon my couch of moss, which, after my 
fatigues, felt like a bed of down ; and, sheltered 
by the robber-mantle from all humidity, I slept 
soundly, without waking, until the signal to 
arise. 

It was nearly six o'clock, and the day was just 
dawning. As the place where we had passed the 



THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 407 

night was too much exposed, we moved up into 
the thickness of the woods. A fire was kindled. 
While there was any flame, the mantles were 
again extended round it : but when nothing re- 
Qiained but glowing cinders, they were lowered, 
ind the robbers seated themselves in a circle. 

The scene before me reminded me of some of 
those described by Homer. There wanted only 
the victim on the coals, and the sacred knife to 
cut off the succulent parts, and distribute them 
around. My companions might have rivalled the 
grim warriors of Greece. In place of the noble 
repasts, however, of Achilles and Agamemnon, I 
beheld displayed on the grass the remains of the 
ham which had sustained so vigorous an attack 
on the preceding evening, accompanied by the 
relics of the bread, cheese, and wine. We had 
scarcely commenced our frugal breakfast, when I 
heard again an imitation of the bleating of sheep, 
similar to what I had heard the day before. The 
captain answered it in the same tone. Two men 
were soon after seen descending from the woody 
height, where we had passed the preceding even- 
ing. On nearer approach, they proved to be 
the sentinel and the messenger. The captain 
rose, and went to meet them. He made a signal 
for his comrades to join him. They had a short 
conference, and then returning to me with great 
eagerness, " Your ransom is paid," said he, " you 
are free ! " 

Though I had anticipated deliverance, I cannot 
tell you what a rush of delight these tidings gave 
oae. 1 cared not to finish my repast, but pre- 



408 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

pared to depart. The captain took me by the 
hand, requested permission to write to me, and 
begged me not to forget the passport. I replied, 
that I hoped to be of effectual service to him, 
and that I relied on his honor to return the 
Prince's note for five hundred dollars, now that 
the cash was paid. He regarded me for n 
moment with surprise, then seeming to recollect 
himself, '' E giusto" said he, " eccoto — adio 1 " ^ 
He delivered me the note, pressed my hand once 
more, and we separated. The laborers were per- 
mitted to follow me, and we resumed with joy 
our road toward Tusculuin. 

The Frenchman ceased to speak. The party 
continued, for a few moments, to pace the shore 
in silence. The story had made a deep impres- 
sion, particularly on the Venetian lady. At that 
part which related to the young girl of Frosi- 
none, she was violently affected. Sobs broke 
from her ; she clung closer to her husband, and 
as she looked up to him as if for protection, the 
moonbeams shining on her beautifully fair coun- 
tenance, showed it paler than usual, while tears 
glittered in her fine dark eyes. 

" Corragio, mia vita ! " said he, as he gently 
and fondly tapped the white hand that lay upon 
his arm. 

The party now returned to the inn, wid sep- 

firated for the night. The fair Venetian, though 

of the sweetest temperament, was half out of 

humor with the Englishman, for a certain slow 

* It is just — there it is — adieu! 



THE INN AT TERRACINA. 409 

ness of faitli whicli he had evinced throu2;hout 
the whole evening. She could not understand 
this dislike to " humbug," as he termed it, which 
held a kind of sway over him, and seemed to 
control his opinions and his very actions. 

" I '11 warrant," said she to her husband, as 
they retired for the night, — "I '11 warrant, with 
all his affected indifference, this Englishman's 
heart would quake at the very sight of a bandit." 

Her husband gently, and good-humoredly, 
checked her. 

"I have no patience with these Englishmen," 
said she, as she got into bed, — " they are so cold 
find insensible ! " 





THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 




N the morniDg all was bustle in the inn 
at Terracina. The procaccio had de 
parted at daybreak on its route towards 
Rome, but the Englishman was yet to start, and 
the departure of an English equipage is always 
enough to keep an inn in a bustle. On this oc- 
casion there was more than usual stir, for the 
Englishman, having much property about him, 
and having been convinced of the real danger of 
the road, had applied to the police, and obtained, 
by dint of liberal pay, an escort of eight dra- 
goons and twelve foot-soldiers, as far as Fondi. 

Perhaps, too, there might have been a little 
ostentation at bottom, though, to say the truth, 
he had nothing of it in his manner. He moved 
about, taciturn and reserved as usual, among the 
gaping crowd ; gave laconic orders to John, as he 
packed away the thousand and one indispensable 
conveniences of the night ; double loaded his 
pistols with great sang froid. and deposited them 
in the pockets of the carriage ; taking no notice 
of a pair of keen eyes gazing on him from among 
the herd of loiterino- idlers. 

The fair Venetian now came up with a request, 
made in her dulcet tones, that lie would permit 



THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE. 411 

their carriage to proceed under protection of his 
escort. The Englishman, who was busy loading 
another pair of pistols for his servant, and held 
the ramrod between his teeth, nodded assent, as a 
matter of course, but without lifting up his eyes. 
The fair Venetian was a Httle piqued at what 
she supposed indifference : — " Dio ! " ejaculated 
she softly as she retired ; " Quanto sono insen- 
sibili questi Inglesi." 

At length, off they set in gallant style. The 
eight dragoons prancing in front, the twelve foot- 
soldiers marching in rear, and the carriage mov- 
ing slowly in the centre, to enable the infantry 
to keep pace with them. They had proceeded 
but a few hundred yards, when it was discovered 
that some indispensable article had been left be- 
hind. In fact, the Englishman's purse was miss- 
ing, and John was dispatched to the inn to 
search for it. This occasioned a little delay, and 
the carriage of the Venetians drove slowly on. 
John came back out of breath and out of humor. 
The purse was not to be found. His master was 
irritated ; he recollected the very place where it 
lay ; he had not a doubt the Italian servant had 
pocketed it. John was again sent back. He 
returned once more without the purse, but with 
tlie landlord and the whole household at his 
heels. A thousand ejaculations and protestations, 
accompanied by all sorts of grimaces and contor- 
tions — " No purse had been seen — his excel- 
Icnza must be mistaken." 

" No — his excellenza was not mistaken — the 
purse lay on the marble table, under the mirror, 



112 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

a green purse, half full of gold and silver." 
Again a thousand grimaces and contortions, and 
vows by San Gennaro, that no purse of the kind 
had been seen. 

The Englishman became furious. " The waiter 
had pocketed it — the landlord was a knave — 
the inn a den of thieves ^- it was a vile coun 
try — he had been cheated and plundered from 
one end of it to the other — but he 'd have sat 
isfaction — he'd drive right off' to the police." 

He was on the point of ordering the postilions 
to turn back, when, on rising, he displaced the 
cushion of the carriage, and the purse of money 
fell chinking to the floor. 

All the blood in his body seemed to rush into 
his face. — " Curse the purse," said he, as he 
snatched it up. He dashed a handful of money 
on the ground before the pale cringing waiter, — 
" There, be off* ! " cried he. " John, order the pos- 
tilions to drive on." 

About half an hour had been exhausted in 
this altercation. The Venetian carriage had loi- 
tered along ; its passengers looking out from 
time to time, and expecting the escort every 
moment to follow. They had gi'adually turned 
an anoxic of the road that shut them out of siMit. 
The little army was again in motion, and made a 
very picturesque appearance as it wound along 
at the bottom of the rocks ; the morning sun- 
shine beaming upon the weapons of the soldiery. 

The Englishman lolled back in his carriage, 
vexed with himself at what had passed, and con- 
8oqnently out of humor with all the world. As 



THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE. 413 

this, however, is no uncommon case with gentle- 
men who travel for their pleasure, it is hardly 
worthy of remark. Tliey had wound up from 
the coast among the hills, and came to a part of 
the road that admitted of some prospect ahead. 

" I see nothing of the lady's carriage, sir," said 
John, leaning down from the coach-box. 

" Pish ! " said the Englishman, testily ; " don't 
plague me about the lady's carriage ; must I be 
continually pestered with the concerns of stran- 
gers ? " John said not another word, for he un- 
derstood his master's mood. 

The road grew more wild and lonely; they 
were slowly proceeding on a foot-pace up a hill ; 
the dragoons were some distance ahead, and had 
just reached the summit of the hill, when they 
uttered an exclamation, or rather shout, and gal- 
loped forward. The Englishman was roused 
from his sulky reverie. He stretched his head 
from the carriage, which had attained the brow of 
the hill. Before him extended a long hollow 
defile, commanded on one side by rugged precipi- 
tous heights, covered with bushes of scanty 
forest. At some distance he beheld the carriage 
of the Venetians overturned. A numerous gang 
of desperadoes were rifling it; the young man 
and his servant were overpowered, and partly 
stripped ; and the lady was in the hands of two 
of the ruffians. The Englishman seized his 
pistols, sprang from the carriage, and called upon 
John to follow him. 

In the mean time, as the dragoons came for- 
3fard, the robbers, who were busy with the car- 



il4 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

riage, quitted their spoil, formed themselves in 
the middle of the road, and taking a deliberate 
aim, fired. One of the dragoons fell, another 
was womided, and the whole were for a moment 
checked and thrown into confusion. The robbers 
loaded again in an instant. The dragoons dis- 
charged their carbines, but without apparent effect. 
They received another volley, which, though none 
fell, threw them again into confusion. The rob- 
bers were loading a second time when they saw 
the foot-soldiers at hand. " Scampa via ! " was 
the word: they abandoned their prey, and re- 
treated up the rocks, the soldiers after them. 
They fought from cliff to cliff", and bush to bush, 
the robbers turning every now and then to fire 
upon their pursuers ; the soldiers scrambling after 
them, and discharging their muskets whenever 
they could get a chance. Sometimes a soldier or 
a robber was shot down, and came tumbling 
among the cliffs. The dragoons kept firing from 
below, whenever a robber came in sight. 

The Englishman had hastened to the scene of 
action, and the balls discharged at the dragoons 
had whistled past him as he advanced. One 
object, however, engrossed his attention. It was 
the beautiful Venetian lady in the hands of two 
of the robbers, who, during the confusion of the 
fight, carried her shrieking up the mountain. 
He saw her dress gleaming among the bushes, 
and he sprang up the rocks to intercept the rob- 
bers, as they bore off their prey. The rugged- 
uess of the steep, and the entanglements of the 
bushes, delayed and impeded him. He lost sight 



THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE. 415 

:>f the lady, but was still guided by her cries, 
which grew fainter and fainter. They were off 
to the left, while the reports of muskets showed 
that the battle was raging to the right. At length 
he came upon what appeared to be a rugged foot- 
path, faintly worn in a guUey of the rocks, and 
beheld the ruffians at some distance hurrying the 
lady up the defile. One of them hearing his 
approach, let go his prey, advanced towards him, 
and levellino; the carbine which had been slunoj 
on his back, fired. The ball whizzed through 
the Englishman's hat, and carried with it some 
of his hair. He returned the fire with one of 
his pistols, and the robber fell. The other 
brigand now dropped the lady, and drawing a 
long pistol from his belt, fired on his adversary 
with deliberate aim. The ball passed between 
his left arm and his side, slightly wounding the 
arm. The Englishman advanced, and discharged 
his remaining pistol, which wounded the robber, 
but not severely. 

The brigand drew a stiletto and rushed upon 
his adversary, who eluded the blow, receiving 
merely a slight wound, and defended himself 
with his pistol, which had a spring bayonet. 
They closed with one another, and a desperate 
struggle ensued. The robber was a square-built, 
thickset man, powerful, muscular, and active. 
The Englishman, though of larger frame and 
greater strength, was less active, and less accus- 
tomed to athletic exercises and feats of hardihood, 
, but he showed himself practised and skilled in 
the art of defence. They were on a craggy 



416 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

height, and the Englishman perceived that his 
antagonist was striving to press him to the edge. 
A side-glance showed him also the robber whom 
he had first wounded, scrambling up to the assist- 
ance of his comrade, stiletto in hand. He had 
in fact attained the summit of the cliff, he was 
within a few steps, and the Englishman felt that 
his case was desperate, when he heard suddenly 
the report of a pistol, and the ruffian fell. The 
shot came from John, who had arrived just in 
time to save his master. 

The remaining robber, exhausted by loss of 
blood and the violence of the contest, showed 
signs of faltering. The Englishman pursued his 
advantage, pressed on him, and as his strength 
relaxed, dashed him headlong from the precipice. 
He looked after him, and saw him lying motion- 
less among the rocks below. 

The Eno;lishman now souo;ht the fair Vene- 
tian. He found her senseless on the ground. 
"With his servant's assistance he bore her down 
to the road, where her husband was raving like 
one distracted. He had sought her in vain, and 
had given her over for lost ; and when he beheld 
her thus brought back in safety, his joy was 
equally wild and ungovernable. He would have 
caught her insensible form to his bosom had not 
the Englishman restrained him. The latter, now 
really aroused, displayed a true tenderness anJ 
manly gallantry, which one would not have ex- 
pected from his habitual phlegm. His kindness, 
however, was practical, not wasted in words. He 
dispatched John to the carriage for restoratives 



THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE. 417 

of all kinds, and, totally thoughtless of himself, 
was anxious only about his lovely charge. The 
occasional discharge of firearms along the height, 
showed that a retreating fight was still kept up 
by the robbers. The lady gave signs of reviving 
animation. The Englishman, eager to get her 
from this place of danger, conveyed her to his 
own carriage, and, committing her to the care of 
her husband, ordered the dragoons to escort them 
to Fondi. The Venetian would have insisted on 
the Englishman's getting into the carriage ; but 
the latter refused. He poured forth a torrent of 
thanks and benedictions ; but the Englishman 
beckoned to the postilions to drive on. 

John now dressed his master's wounds, Avhich 
were found not to be serious, though he was faint 
with loss of blood. The Venetian carriage had 
been righted, and the baggage replaced ; and, get- 
ting into it, they set out on their way towards 
Fondi, leaving the foot-soldiers still engaged in 
ferreting out the banditti. 

Before arriving at Fondi, the fair Venetian 
had completely recovered from her swoon. She 
made the usual question, — 
" Where was she ? " 
" In the Englishman's carriage." 
" How had she escaped from the robbers ? " 
" The Englishman had rescued her." 
Her transports were unbounded ; and mingled 
with them were enthusiastic ejaculations of grati- 
tude to her deliverer. A thousand times did she 
reproach herself for having accused him of cold- 
ness and insensibility. The moment she saw him, 
27 



418 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

she rushed into Ms arms with the vivacity of her 
nation, and hung about his neck in a speechless 
transport of gratitude. Never was man more 
embarrassed by the embraces of a fine woman. 

" Tut ! — tut ! " said the Englishman. 

" You are wounded ! " shrieked the fair Vene- 
tian as she saw blood upon his clothes. 

" Pooh ! nothing at all ! " 

" My deliverer ! — my angel ! " exclaimed she, 
clasping him again round the neck, and sobbing 
on his bosom. 

" Pish ! " said the Englishman, with a good-hu 
mored tone, but looking somewhat foolish, " this, 
is all humbug." 

The fair Venetian, however, has never since 
accused the English of insensibility. 




PART FOURTH. 



THE MONEY-DIGGERS. 



FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF TEE LATE DIEDRICfll 
KNICKERBOCKER. 

" Now I remember those old women's words, 
Who in my youth would tell me winter's tales : 
And speak of sprites aud ghosts that glide by night 
About the place where treasure hath been hid." 

MABLOW'a Jeio of Maltm 



HELL-GATE. 




BOUT six miles from the renowned city 
of tlie Manhattoes, in that Sound or arm 
of the sea which passes between the 
mainland and Nassau, or Long Island, there is 
a narroAV strait, where the current is violently 
compressed between shouldering promontories, and 
horribly perplexed by rocks and shoals. Being, 
at the best of times, a very violent, impetuous 
current, it takes these impediments in mighty 
dudgeon ; boiling in whirlpools ; brawling and 
fretting in ripples ; raging and roaring in rapids 
and breakers ; and, in short, indulging in all kinds 
of wrong-headed paroxysms. At such times, woe 
to any unlucky vessel that ventures within its 
clutches. 

This termagant humor, however, prevails only 
at certain times of tide. At low water, for in- 
stance, it is as pacific a stream as you would wish 
to see ; but as the tide rises, it begins to fret ; at 
half-tide it roars with might and main, like a bull 
bellowing for more drink ; but when the tide is 
full, it relapses into quiet, and, for a time, sleeps 
as soundly as an alderman after dinner. In fact, 
it may be compared to a quarrelsome toper, who 



122 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

is a peaceable fellow enough when he has no 
liquor at all, or when he has a skinful! ; but who, 
when half-seas-over, plays the very devil. 

This mighty, blustering, bullying, hard-drinking 
little strait was a place of great danger and per- 
plexity to the Dutch navigators of ancient days ; 
hectoring their tub-built barks in a most unruly 
style ; whirling them about in a manner to make 
any but a Dutchman giddy, and not unfrequently 
stranding them upon rocks and reefs, as it did the 
famous squadron of OlofFe the Dreamer, when 
seeking a place to found the city of the Manhat- 
toes. Whereupon, out of sheer spleen, they de- 
nominated it Helle-gat, and solemnly gave it over 
to the devil. This appellation has since been 
aptly rendered into English by the name of Hell- 
gate, and into nonsense by the name of Hurl-gate, 
according to certain foreign intruders, who neither 
understood Dutch nor English, — may St. Nicholas 
confound them ! 

This strait of Hell-gate was a place of great 
awe and perilous enterprise to me in my boyhood, 
having been much of a navigator on those small 
seas, and having more than once run the risk of 
shipwreck and drowning in the course of certain 
holiday voyages, to which, in common with other 
Dutch urchins, I was rather prone. Indeed, 
partly from the name, and partly from various 
strange circumstances connected with it, this 
place had far more terrors in the eyes of my tru- 
ant companions and myself than had Scylla and 
Charybdis for tlie navigators of yore. 

In the midst of this strait, and hard by a group 



EELL-GA TE. 42S 

af rocks called the Hen and Chickens, there lay 
the wreck of a vessel which had been entangled 
in the whirlpools and stranded during a storm. 
There was a wild story told to us of this being 
the wreck of a pirate, and some tale of bloody 
murder which I cannot now recollect, but which 
made us regard it with great awe, and keep far 
from it in our cruisings. Indeed, the desolate 
look of the forlorn hulk, and the fearful place 
where it lay rotting, were enough to awaken 
strange notions. A row of timber-heads, black- 
ened by time, just peered above the surface at 
high water ; but at low tide a considerable part 
of the hull was bare, and its great ribs or timbers, 
partly stripped of their planks, and dripping with 
sea-weeds, looked like the huge skeleton of some 
sea-monster. There was also the stump of a 
mast, with a few ropes and blocks swinging 
about and whistling in the wind, while the sea- 
gall wheeled and screamed around the melan- 
choly carcass. I have a faint recollection of some 
hobgoblin tale of sailors' ghosts being seen about 
this wreck at night, with bare skulls, and blue 
lights in their sockets instead of eyes, but I have 
forgotten all the particulars. 

In fact, the whole of this neighborhood was 
like the straits of Pelorus of yore, a region of 
fable and romance to me. From the strait to the 
Manhattoes, the borders of the Sound are greatly 
diversified, being broken and indented by rocky 
nooks overhung with trees, which give them a 
wild and romantic look. In the time of my 
boyhood, they abounded with traditions about 



424 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

pirates, ghosts, smugglers, and buried money 
which had a wonderful effect upon the young 
minds of my companions and myself. 

As I grew to more mature years, I made dili- 
gent research after the truth of these strange 
traditions ; for I have always been a curious in- 
vestigator of the valuable but obscure branches 
of the history of my native province. I found 
infinite difficulty, however, in arriving at any pre- 
cise information. In seeking to dig up one fact, 
it is incredible the number of fables that I un- 
earthed. I will say nothing of the devil's step- 
ping-stones, by which the arch-fiend made his re- 
treat from Connecticut to Long Island, across the 
Sound ; seeing the subject is likely to be learnedly 
treated by a worthy friend and contemporary his- 
torian, whom I have furnished with particulars 
thereof.* Neither will I say anything of the 
black man in a three-cornered hat, seated in the 
stern of a jolly-boat, who used to be seen about 
Hell-gate in stormy weather, and who went by 
the name of the pirate's spuhe, (i. e. pirate's 
ghost,) and whom, it is said, old Governor Stuy- 
vesant once shot with a silver ballet ; because I 
never could meet with any person of stanch cred- 
ibility who professed to have seen this spectrum, 
unless it were the widow of Manus Conklen, the 
blacksmith, of Frogsneck ; but then, poor woman, 
she was a little purblind, and might have bee i 

* For a very interesting and authentic account of the devil 
and his stepping-stones, see the valuable Memoir read before 
the New York Historical Society, since the death of Mr 
Knickerbocker, b}' his friend, an eminent jurist of the place. - 



HELL-GATE. 425 

mistaken ; though they say she saw farther than 
other folks in the dark. 

All this, however, was but little satisfactory 
in regard to the tales of pirates and their buried 
money, about which I was most curious ; and the 
following is all that I could, for a long time, col- 
lect, tha* had anything like an air of authenticity. 





KIDD THE PIRATE. 




N old times, just after the territory of 
the New Netherlands had been wrested 
from the hands of their High Mighti- 
nesses, the Lords States- General of Holland, by 
King Charles the Second, and while it was as yet 
in an unquiet state, the province was a great re- 
sort of random adventurers, loose livers, and all 
that class of hap-hazard fellows who live by their 
wits, and dislike the old - fashioned restraint of 
law and gospel. Among these, the foremost were 
the buccaneers. These were rovers of the deep, 
who perhaps in time of war had been educated 
in those schools of piracy, the privateers ; but 
having once tasted the SAveets of plunder, had 
ever retained a hankering; after it. There is but 
a slight step from the privateersman to the pirate ; 
both fight for the love of plunder ; only that the 
latter is the bravest, as he dares both the enemy 
and the gallows. 

But in whatever school they had been taught, the 
buccaneers that kept about the English colonies 
were daring fellows, and made sad work in times 
of peace among the Spanish settlements and Span- 
ish merchantmen. The easy access to the harbor 
af the Manhattoes, the number of hiding-places 



KIDD THE PIRATE. 427 

about its waters, and the laxity of its scarcely 
organized government, made it a great rendezvous 
of the pirates ; where they might dispose of 
their booty, and concert new depredations. As 
they brought home with them wealthy lading of 
all kinds, the luxuries of the tropics, and the 
sumptuous spoils of the Spanish provinces, and 
disposed of them with the proverbial carelessness 
of freebooters, they were welcome visitors to the 
thrifty traders of the Manhattoes. Crews of 
these desperadoes, therefore, the runagates of ev- 
ery country and every clime, might be seen swag- 
gering in open day about the streets of the little 
burgh, elbowing its quiet mynheers ; trafficking 
away their rich outlandish plunder at half or 
quarter pi^ice to the wary merchant ; and then 
squandering their prize-money in taverns, drink- 
ing, gambling, singing, swearing, shouting, and 
astounding: the neio;hborhood with midnio;ht brawl 
and ruffian revelry. 

At length these excesses rose to such a height 
as to become a scandal to the provinces, and to 
call loudly for the interposition of government. 
Measures were accordingly taken to put a stop to 
the widely extended evil, and to ferret this ver- 
min brood out of the colonies. 

Among the agents employed to execute this 
purpose was the notorious Captain Kidd. He 
had long been an equivocal character ; one of 
those nondescript animals of the ocean that are 
neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. He was somewhat 
of a trader, something more of a smuggler, with 
a considerable dash of the picaroon. He had 



428 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

traded for many years among the pirates, In a 
little rakish, mosquito-built vessel, that could run 
into all kinds of waters. He knew all their 
haunts and lurking-places ; was always hooking 
about on mysterious voyages, and was as busy as 
a Mother Gary's chicken in a storm. 

This nondescript personage was pitched upon 
by government as the very man to hunt the pi- 
rates by sea, upon the good old maxim of " set- 
ting a rogue to catch a rogue " ; or as otters are 
sometimes used to catch their cousins - german, 
the fish. 

Kidd accordingly sailed for New York, in 
1695, in a gallant vessel called the Adventure 
Galley, well armed and duly commissioned. On 
arriving at his old haunts, however, he shipped 
his crew on new terms ; enlisted a number of 
his old comrades, lads of the knife and the pistol ; 
and then set sail for the East. Instead of cruis- 
ing against pirates, he turned pirate himself; 
steered to the Madeiras, to Bonavista, and Mada- 
gascar, and cruised about the entrance of the 
Red Sea. Here, among other maritime robber- 
ies, he captured a rich Quedah merchantman, 
manned by Moors, though commanded by an 
Englishman. Kidd would fain have passed this 
off for a worthy exploit, as being a kind of cru- 
sade against the infidels ; but government had 
long since lost all relish for such Christian tri- 
umphs. 

After roaming the seas, trafficking his prizes, 
and changing from ship to ship, Kidd had the 
hardihood to return to Boston, laden with booty. 



KIDD THE PIRATE. 429 

with a crew of swaggering companions at bis 
heels. 

Times, however, were changed. The bucca- 
neers could no longer show a whisker in the colo- 
nies with impunity. The new governor, Lord 
Bellamont, had signalized himself by his zeal in 
extirpating these offenders ; and was doubly ex- 
asperated against Kidd, having been instrumental 
in appointing him to the trust which he had be- 
trayed. No sooner, therefore, did he show him- 
self in Boston, than the alarm was given of his 
reappearance, and measures were taken to arrest 
this cutpurse of the ocean. The daring character 
which Kidd had acquired, however, and the des- 
perate fellows who followed like bull-dogs at his 
heels, caused a little delay in his arrest. He took 
advantage of this, it is said, to bury the greater 
part of his treasures, and then carried a high head 
about the streets of Boston. He even attempted 
to defend himself when arrested, but was secured 
and thrown into prison, with his followers. Such 
was the formidable character of this pirate and 
his crew, that it was thought advisable to dispatch 
a frigate to bring them to England. Great exer- 
tions were made to screen him from justice, but 
in vain ; he and his comrades were tried, con- 
demned, and hanged at Execution Dock in Lon- 
don. Kidd died hard, for the rope with which 
he was first tied up broke with his weight, and 
he tumbled to the ground. He was tied up a 
second time, and more effectually ; hence came, 
doubtless, the story of Kidd's having a charmed 
life, and that he had to be twice hanged. 



430 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Such is the main outhne of Kidd's history ; 
but it has given birth to an innumerable progeny 
of traditions. The report of his having buried 
great treasures of gold and jewels before his ar- 
rest, set the brains of all the good people along 
the coast in a ferment. There were rumors on 
rumors of great sums of money found here and 
there, sometimes in one part of the country, some- 
times in another ; of coins with Moorish inscrip- 
tions, doubtless the spoils of his eastern prizes, but 
which the common people looked upon with su- 
perstitious awe, regarding the Moorish letters as 
diabolical or magical characters. 

Some reported the treasure to have been bur- 
ied in solitary, unsettled places, about Plymouth 
and Cape Cod ; but by degrees various other 
parts, not only on the eastern coast, but along the 
shores of the Sound, and even of Manhattan and 
Long Island, were gilded by these rumors. In 
fact, the rigorous measures of Lord Bellamont 
spread sudden consternation among the buccaneers 
in every part of the provinces : they secreted 
their money and jewels in lonely out-of-the-way 
places, about the wild shores of the rivers and sea- 
coast, and dispersed themselves over the face of 
the country. The hand of justice prevented many 
of them from ever returning to regain their bur- 
ied treasures, which remained, and remain prob- 
ably to this day, objects of enterprise for the 
money-digger. 

This is the cause of those frequent reports of 
trees and rocks bearing mysterious marks, sup- 
posed to indicate the spots where treasures lay 



KIDD THE PIRATE. 431 

hidden ; and many have been the ransackings 
after the pirate's booty. In all the stories which 
once abounded of these enterprises, the devil 
played a conspicuous part. Either he was con- 
ciliated by ceremonies and invocations, or some 
solemn compact was made with him. Still he 
was ever prone to play the money-diggers some 
slippery trick. Some would dig so far as to 
come to an h'on chest, when some baffling circum- 
stance was sure to take place. Either the earth 
would fall in and fill up the pit, or some direful 
noise or apparition would frighten the party from 
the place : sometimes the devil himself would 
appear, and bear off the prize when within their 
very grasp ; and if they revisited the place the 
next day, not a trace would be found of their 
labors of the preceding night. 

All these rumors, however, were extremely 
vague, and for a long time tantalized, without 
gratifying, my curiosity. There is nothing in this 
world so hard to get at as truth, and there is 
nothing in this world but truth that I care for. 
I sought among all my favorite sources of au- 
thentic information, the oldest inhabitants, and 
particularly the old Dutch wives of the province , 
but though I flatter myself that I am bettei 
versed than most men in the curious history of 
my native province, yet for a long time my in- 
quiries were unattended with any substantial re- 
sult. 

At length it happened that, one calm day in 
the latter part of summer, I was relaxing myself 
from the toils of severe study, by a day's amuse- 



432 fALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

ment in fishing in those waters which had been 
the favorite resort of my boyhood. I was in 
company with several worthy burghers of my na- 
tive city, among whom were more than one ilhis- 
trious member of the corporation, whose names, 
did I dare to mention them, would do honor to 
my humble page. Our sport was indifferent. 
The fish did not bite freely, and we frequently 
changed our fishing-ground without bettering our 
luck. We were at length anchored close under 
a ledge of rocky coast, on the eastern side of the 
island of Manhatta. It was a still, warm day. 
The stream whirled and dimpled by us, without 
a wave or even a ripple ; and everything was so 
calm and quiet, that it was almost startling when 
the kingfisher would pitch himself from the branch 
of some high tree, and after suspending himself 
for a moment in the air, to take his aim, would 
souse into the smooth water after his prey. 
While we were lolling in our boat, half drowsy 
with the warm stillness of the day, and the dul- 
ness of our sport, one of our party, a worthy 
alderman, was overtaken by a slumber, and, as 
he dozed, suffered the sinker of his drop-line to 
lie upon the bottom of the river. On waking, 
he found he had caught something of importance 
from the weight. On drawing it to the surface, 
we were much surprised to find it a long pistol of 
very curious and outlandish fashion, which, from 
its rusted condition, and its stock being worm- 
eaten and covered with barnacles, appeared to 
have lain a long time under water. The unex- 
pected appearance of this document of warfare 



KIDD TEE PIRATE. 438 

occasioned much speculation among my pacific 
companions. One supposed it to have fallen there 
during the revolutionary war ; another, from the 
peculiarity of its fashion, attributed it to the voy- 
agers in the earliest days of the settlement ; per- 
chance to the renowned Adrian Block, who ex- 
plored the Sound, and discovered Block Island, 
since so noted for its cheese. But a third, after 
regarding it for some time, pronounced it to be 
of veritable Spanish workmanship. 

" I '11 warrant," said he, " if this pistol could 
talk, it would tell strange stories of hard fights 
among the Spanish Dons. I 've no doubt but it 
is a relic of the buccaneers of old times, — who 
knows but it belonged to Kidd himself? " 

" Ah ! that Kidd was a resolute fellow," cried 
an old iron-faced Cape- Cod whaler. — ••' There 's a 
fine old song nbout him, all to the tune of — 

My name is Captain Kidd, 
As 1 sailed, as I sailed ; — 

and then it tells about how he gained the devil's 
good graces by burying the Bible : — 

I had the Bible in my hand, 

As I sailed, as I sailed, 
And I buried it in the sand, 

As I sailed. — 

" Odsfish, if I thought this pistol had belonged 
to Kidd, I should set great store by it, for curi- 
osity's sake. By the way, I recollect a story 

about a fellow who once dug up Kidd's buried 
28 



i34 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



money, which was written by a neighbor of mine 
and which I learnt by heart. As the fish don't 
bite just now, I'll tell it to you, by way of pass- 
ing away the time." — And so saying, he gave 
us the followinsc narration. 





THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 




FEW miles from Boston in Massachu 
setts, there is a deep inlet, winding sev- 
eral miles into the interior of the country 
Tom Charles Bay, and terminating in a thickly- 
wooded swamp or morass. On one side of this 
inlet is a beautiful dark grove ; on the oppa^ite 
side the land rises abruptly from the water's edge 
into a high ridge, on which grow a few scattered ' 
oaks of great age and immense size. Under one 
of these gigantic trees, according to old st«>ries, 
there was a great amount of treasure buried by 
Kidd the pirate. The inlet allowed a facility to 
bring the money in a boat secretly and at night 
to the very foot of the hill ; the elevation of the 
place permitted a good lookout to be kept that 
no one was at hand ; while the remarkable trees 
formed good landmarks by which the place might 
easily be found again. The old stories add, more- 
over, that the devil presided at the hiding of the 
money, and took it under his guardianship ; but 
this, it is well known, he always does with buried 
treasure, particularly when it has been ill-gotten. 
Be that as it may, Kidd never returned to recover 
his wealth ; being shortly after seized at Boston, 



436 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Rent out to England, and there hanged for a pi- 
rate. 

About the year 1727, just at the time that 
earthquakes were prevalent in New England, and 
shook many tall sinners down upon their knees, 
there lived near this place a meagre, miserly fel- 
low, of the name of Tom Walker. He had a 
wife as miserly as himself: they were so miserly 
that they even conspired to cheat each other. 
Whatever the woman could lay hands on, she 
hid away ; a hen could not cackle but she was 
on the alert to secure the new-laid egg. Her 
husband was continually prying about to detect 
her secret hoards, and many and fierce were the 
conflicts that took place about what ought to have 
been common property. They lived in a forlorn- 
looking house that stood alone, and had an air 
of starvation. A few straggling savin-trees, em- 
blems of sterility, grew near it ; no smoke ever 
curled from its chimney ; no traveller stopped at 
its door. A miserable horse, whose ribs were as 
articulate as the bars of a gridiron, stalked about 
a field, where a thin carpet of moss, scarcely cov- 
ering the ragged beds of pudding-stone, tantalized 
and balked his hunger ; and sometimes he would 
lean his head over the fence, look piteously at the 
passer-by, and seem to petition deliverance from 
this land of famine. 

The house and its inmates had altogether a 
bad name. Tom's wife was a tall termagant, 
fierce of temper, loud of tongue, and strong of 
arm. Her voice was often heard in wordy war- 
fai'e with her husband ; and his face sometimes 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. '137 

?bowed signs that their conflicts were not con- 
fined to words. No one ventured, however, to 
hiterfere between them. The lonely wayfarer 
shrunk within himself at the horrid clamor and 
clapper-clawing ; eyed the den of discord askance ; 
and hurried on his way, rejoicing, if a bachelor, 
in his celibacy. 

One day that Tom Walker had been to a dis- 
tant part of the neighborhood, he took what he 
considered a short cut homeward, through the 
swamp. Like most short cuts, it was an ill- 
chosen route. The swamp was thickly grown 
with great gloomy pines and hemlocks, some of 
them ninety feet high, which made it dark at 
noonday, and a retreat for all the owls of the 
neighborhood. It was full of pits and quagmires, 
partly covered with weeds and mosses, where the 
green surface often betrayed the traveller into a 
gulf of black, smothering mud : there were also 
dark and stagnant pools, the abodes of the tadpole, 
the bull-frog, and the water-snake ; where the 
trunks of pines and hemlocks lay half-drowned, half- 
rotting, looking like alligators sleeping in the mire. 

Tom had long been picking his way cautiously 
through this treacherous forest ; stepping from 
tuft to tuft of rushes and roots, which afforded 
precarious footholds among deep sloughs ; or pac- 
ing carefully, like a cat, along the prostrate trunks 
of trees ; startled now and then by the sudden 
screaming of the bittern, or the quacking of a 
wild duck rising on"the wing from some solitary 
pool. At length he arrived at a firm piece of 
ground, which ran out like a peninsula into the 



438 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 

deep bosom of the swamp. It had been one of 
the strono:-holds of the Indians during: their wars 
with the first colonists. Here they had thrown 
up a kind of fort, which they had looked upon as 
almost impregnable, and had used as a place of 
refuge for their squaws and children. Nothing 
remained of the old "Indian fort but a few em- 
bankments, gradually sinking to the level of the 
surrounding earth, and already overgrown in pari 
by oaks and other forest trees, the foliage of 
which formed a contrast to the dark pines and 
hemlocks of the swamp. 

It was late in the dusk of evening when Tom 
Walker reached the old fort, and he paused there 
awhile to rest himself. Any one but he would 
have felt unwilling to linger in this lonely, mel- 
ancholy place, for the common people had a bad 
opinion of it, from the stories handed down from 
the time of the Indian wars ; when it was as- 
serted that the savages held incantations here, 
and made sacrifices to the evil spirit. 

Tom Walker, however, was not a man to be 
troubled with any fears of the kind. He reposed 
himself for some time on the trunk of a fallen 
hemlock, listening to the boding cry of the tree- 
toad, and delving with his walking-staff into a 
mound of black mould at his feet. As he turned 
up the soil unconsciously, his staff struck against 
somethino: hard. He raked it out of the vef>;eta- 
ble mould, and lo ! a cloven skull, with an Indian 
tomahawk buried deep in it, lay before him. The 
rust on the weapon showed the time that had 
elapsed since this death-blow had been given. It 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 439 

was a dreary memento of the fierce struggle that 
had taken place in this last foothold of the Indian 
warriors. 

" Humph ! " said Tom Walker, as he gave it a 
kick to shake the dirt from it. 

" Let that skull alone ! " said a gruff voice. 
Tom lifted up his eyes, and beheld a great black 
man seated directly opposite him, on the stump 
of a tree. He was exceedingly surprised, having 
neither heard nor seen any one approach ; and 
he was still more perplexed on observing, as well 
as the gathering gloom would permit, that the 
strano-er was neither ne<>;ro nor Indian. It is 
true he was dressed in a rude half Indian garb, 
and had a red belt or sash swathed round his 
body ; but his face was neither black nor copper- 
color, but swarthy and dingy, and begrimed with 
soot, as if he had been accustomed to toil among 
fires and forges. He had a shock of coarse black 
hair, that stood out from his head in all directions, 
and bore an axe on his shoulder. 

He scowled for a moment at Tom with a pair 
of great red eyes. 

" What are you doing on my grounds ? " said 
the black man, with a hoarse growling voice. 

" Your grounds ! " said Tom, with a sneer, 
" no more your grounds than mine ; they belong 
to Deacon Peabody." 

" Deacon Peabody be d d," said the stran- 
ger, " as I flatter myself he will be, if he does 
uot look more to his own sins and less to those 
of his neighbors. Look yonder, and see ho-w 
Deacon Peabody is faring." 



440 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Tom looked in the direction that the strangei 
pointed, and beheld one of the great trees, fair 
and flourishing without, but rotten at the core, 
and saw that it had been nearly hewn through, 
so that the first high wind was likely to blow it 
down. On the bark of the tree was scored the 
name of Deacon Peabody, an eminent man, who 
had waxed wealthy by driving shrewd bargains 
with the Indians. He now looked around, and 
found most of the tall trees marked with the 
name of some great man of the colony, and all 
more or less scored by the axe. The one on 
which he had been seated, and which had evi- 
dently just been hewn down, bore the name of 
Crowninshield ; and he recollected a mighty rich 
man of that name, who made a vulgar display 
of wealth, which it was whispered he had ac- 
quired by buccaneering. 

" He 's just ready for burning ! " said the black 
man, with a grpwl of triumph. " You see I am 
likely to have a good stock of firewood for 
winter." 

" But what right have you," said Tom, " to cut 
down Deacon Peabody's timber ? " 

" The right of a prior claim," said the other. 
" This woodland belonged to me long before one 
bf your white-faced race put foot upon the soil." 

" And pray, who are you, if I may be so 
bold ? " said Tom. 

" Oh, I go by various names. I am the wild 
huntsman in some coimtries ; the black miner in 
others. In this neigliborhood I am known by the 
Qame of the black woodsman. I am he to whom 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 44 1 

the red men consecrated this spot, and In honor 
of whom they now and then roasted a white man, 
fc>y way of sweet - smeUing sacrifice. Since the 
red men have been exterminated by you white 
savages, I amuse myself by presiding at the per- 
secutions of Quakers and Anabaptists ; I am the 
great patron and prompter of slave-dealers, and 
the grand-master of the Salem witches." 

" The upshot of all which is, that, if I mistake 
not," said Tom, sturdily, " you are he commonly 
called Old Scratch." 

" The same, at your service ! " replied the black 
man, with a half civil nod. 

Such was the opening of this interview, ac- 
cording to the old story ; though it has almost 
too familiar an air to be credited. One would 
think that to meet with such a singular personage, 
in this wild, lonely place, would have shaken any 
man's nerves ; but Tom was a hard-minded fel- 
low, not easily daunted, and he had lived so long 
with a termagant wife, that he did not even fear 
the devil. 

It is said that after this commencement they 
had a long and earnest conversation together, as 
Tom returned homeward. The black man told 
him of great sums of money buried by Kidd the 
pirate, under the oak-trees on the high ridge, not 
far from the morass. All these were under his 
command, and protected by his power, so that 
none could find them but such as propitiated his 
favor. These he offered to place within Tom 
Walker's reach, having conceived an especial 
kindness for him; but they were to be had only 



442 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

OD certain conditions. What these conditions 
were may be easily surmised, though Tom never 
disclosed them publicly. They must have been 
very hard, for he required time to think of them, 
and he was not a man to stick at trifles when 
money was in view. When they had reached the 
edge of the swamp, the stranger paused. •' What 
proof have I that all you have been telling me 
is true ? " said Tom. " There 's my signature," 
said the black man, pressing his finger on Tom's 
forehead. So saying, he turned off among the 
thickets of the swamp, and seemed, as Tom said, 
to go down, down, down, into the earth, until 
nothing but his head and shoulders could be seen, 
and so on, until he totally disappeared. 

When Tom reached home, he found the black 
print of a finger burnt, as it were, into his fore- 
head, which nothing could obliterate. 

The first news his wife had to tell him was the 
sudden death of Absalom Crowninshield, the rich 
buccaneer. It was announced in the papers 
with the usual flourish, that " A great man had 
fallen in Israel." 

Tom recollected the tree which his black 
friend had just hewn down, and which was ready 
for burning. " Let the freebooter roast," said 
Tom, " who cares ! " He now felt convinced that 
all Ae had heard and seen was no illusion. 

He was not prone to let his wife into his con- 
fidence ; but as tliis was an uneasy secret, he will- 
ingly shared it v*ath her. All her avarice was 
awakened at the mention of hidden gold, and she 
urged her husband to comply with tlie black man's 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 445 

terms, and secure what would make tliem wealthy 
for life. However Tom might have felt disposed 
to sell himself to the Devil, he was determined 
not to do so to oblige his wife ; so he flatly re- 
fused, out of the mere spirit of contradiction 
Many and bitter were the quarrels they had on 
the subject ; but the more she talked, the more 
resolute was Tom not to be damned to please her. 

At leno^th she determined to drive the bar";ain 
on her own account, and if she succeeded, tc 
keep all the gain to herself. Being of the same 
fearless temper as her husband, she set off for 
the old Indian fort towards the close of a sum- 
mer's day. She was many hours absent. When 
she came back, she was reserved and sullen in 
her replies. She spoke something of a black 
man, whom she had met about twilio^ht hewinjr at 
the root of a tall tree. He was sulky, however, 
and woidd not come to terms : she was to go 
again with a propitiatory offering, but what it was 
she forbore to say. 

The next evenino; she set off asjain for the 
swamp, with her apron heavily laden. Tom 
waited and waited for her, but in vain; midnight 
came, but she did not make her appearance : 
morning, noon, night returned, but still she did 
not come. Tom now ^vq\y uneasy for her safety, 
especially as he found she had carried off in her 
apron the silver tea-pot and spoons, and every 
portable article of value. Another night elapsed, 
another morning came ; but no wife. In a word, 
she was never heard of more. 

Whtit was her real fate nobody knows, in con- 



444 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

sequence of so many pretending to know. It is 
one of those facts which have become confounded 
by a variety of historians. Some asserted that 
she lost her way among the tangled mazes of the 
swamp, and sank into some pit or slough ; others, 
more uncharitable, hinted that she had eloped 
with the household booty, and made off to some 
other province ; while others surmised that the 
tempter had decoyed her into a dismal quagmire, 
on the top of which her hat was found lying. In 
confirmation of this, it M'-as said a great black 
man, with an axe on his shoulder, was seen late 
that very evening coming out of the swamp, car- 
rying a bundle tied in a check apron, with an air 
of surly triumph. 

The most current and probable story, however, 
observes, that Tom Walker grew so anxious 
about the fate of his wife and his property, that 
he set out at leno-th to seek them both at the 
Indian fort. Durino; a loner summer's afternoon 
he searched about tlie gloomy place, but no wife 
was to be seen. He called her name repeatedly, 
but she was nowhere to be heard. The bittern 
alone responded to his voice, as he flew scream- 
ing by ; or the bull-frog croaked dolefully from a 
neighboring pool. At length, it is said, just in 
the broAvn hour of twilight, when the owls began 
to hoot, and the bats to flit about, his attention 
was attracted by tlie clamor of carrion crows hov- 
ering about a cypress-tree. He looked up, and 
beheld a bundle tied in a check apron, and hang- 
ing in the branches of the tree, with a great 
vulture perched hard by, as if keeping watch 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 445 

apon it. He leaped with joy ; for he recognized 
his wife's apron, and supposed it to contain the 
household valuables. 

" Let us get hold of the property," said he, 
consolingly to himself, " and we will endeavor to 
do witliout the woman." 

As he scrambled up the tree, the vulture 
spread its wide wings, and sailed off screaming, 
into the deep shadows of the forest. Tom seized 
the checked apron, but, woful sight ! found 
nothing but a heart and liver tied up in it ! 

Such, according to this most authentic old 
story, was all that was to be found of Tom's 
wife. She had probably attempted to deal with 
the black man as she had been accustomed to 
deal with her husband ; but though a female 
scold is generally considered a match for the 
devil, yet in this instance she appears to have had 
the worst of it. She must have died game, how- 
ever ; for it is said Tom noticed many prints of 
cloven feet deeply stamped about the tree, and 
found handfuls of hair, that looked as if they had 
been plucked from the coarse black shock of the 
woodman. Tom knew his wife's prowess by 
experience. He shrugged his shoulders, as he 
looked at the signs of a fierce clapper-clawing. 
" Egad," said he to himself, " Old Scratch must 
have had a tough time of it ! " 

Tom consoled himself for the loss of his prop- 
erty, with the loss of his wife, for he was a man 
of fortitude. He even felt something like grati- 
tude towards the black woodman, who, he con- 
sidered, had done him a kindness. He sought, 



446 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

tlierefore, to cultivate a further acquaintance witlw 
him, but for some time without success ; the old 
black-legs played shy, for whatever people may 
think, he is not always to be had for calling for : 
he knows how to play his cards when pretty sure 
of his game. 

At length, it is said, when delay had whetted 
Tom's eagerness to the quick, and prepared him 
to agree to anything rather than not gain the 
promised treasure, he met the black man one 
evening in his usual woodman's dress, with his 
axe on his shoulder, sauntering along the swamp, 
and humming a tune. He affected to receive 
Tom's advances with great indifference, made 
brief replies, and went on humming his tune. 

By degrees, however, Tom brought him to 
business, and they began to haggle about the terms 
on which the former was to have the pirate's treas- 
ure. There was one condition which need not be 
mentioned, being generally understood in all cases 
where the devil grants favors ; but there were 
others about which, though of less importance, he 
was inflexibly obstinate. He insisted that the 
money found through his means should be em- 
ployed in his service. He proposed, therefore, 
that Tom should employ it in the black traffic ; 
that is to say, that he should fit out a slave-ship. 
This, however, Tom resolutely refused. : he was 
bad enough in all conscience ; but the devil him- 
self could not tempt him to turn slave-trader. 

Finding Tom so squeamish on this point, he 
did not insist upon it, but proposed, instead, that 
he should turn usurer ; the devil being extremely 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 447 

anxious for the increase of usurers, looking upon 
them as his peculiar people. 

To this no objections were made, for it was just 
to Tom's taste. 

" You shall open a broker's shop in Boston next 
inontli," said the black man. 

" I '11 do it to-morrow, if you wish," said Tom 
"Walker. 

" You shall lend money at two per cent, a 
month." 

" Egad, I '11 charge four ! " replied Tom Walker. 

" You shall extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, 
drive the merchants to bankruptcy " 

" I '11 drive them to the d 1," cried Tom 

Walker. 

" You are the usurer for my money ! " said 
black-legs with delight. " When will you want 
the rhino ? " 

" This very night." 

" Done ! " said the devil. 

" Done ! " said Tom Walker. — So they shook 
hands and struck a bargain. 

A few days' time saw Tom Walker seated be- 
hind his desk in a counting-house in Boston. 

His reputation for a ready-moneyed man, who 
would lend money out for a good consideration 
soon spread abroad. Everybody remembers the 
time of Governor Belcher, when money was par- 
ticularly scarce. It was a time of paper credit. 
The country had been deluged with government 
bills, the famous Land Bank had been established ; 
there had been a rage for speculating ; the people 
had run mad with schemes for new settlements ; 



448 'fALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

for building cities in the wilderness ; land-jobbera 
went about with maps of grants, and townships, 
and Eldorados, lying nobody knpw where, but 
which everybody was ready to purchase. In 
a word, the great speculating fever which breaks 
out every now and then in the country, had raged 
to an alarming degree, and everybody was dream- 
ing of making sudden fortunes from nothing. 
As usual the fever had subsided ; the dream had 
gone off, and the imaginary fortunes with it; the 
patients were left in doleful plight, and the whole 
country resounded with the consequent cry of 
" hard times." 

At this propitious time of public distress did 
Tom "Walker set up as usurer in Boston. His 
door was soon thronged by customers. The 
needy and adventurous ; the gambling speculator ; 
the dreaming land-jobber ; the thriftless trades- 
man ; the merchant with cracked credit ; in short, 
every one driven to raise money by desperate 
means and desperate sacrifices, hurried to Tom 
Walker. 

Thus Tom was the universal friend of the 
iieedy, and acted like a " friend in need " ; that is 
to say, he always exacted good pay and good se- 
curity. In proportion to the distress of the appli- 
cant was the hardness of his terms. He accu- 
mulated bonds and mortgages ; gradually squeezed 
his customers closer and closer : and sent them at 
^eijgth, dry as a sponge, from his door. 

In this way he made money hand over hand ; 
oecame a rich and mighty man, and exalted his 
cocked hat upon 'Change. He built himself, aa 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 449 

usual, a vast house, out of ostentation ; but left 
the greater part of it unfinished and unfurnished, 
out of parsimony. He even set up a carriage in 
the fulness of his vainglory, though he nearly 
starved the horses which drew it ; and as the un- 
greased wheels groaned and screeched on the axle- 
trees, you would have thought you heard the souls 
of the poor debtors he was squeezing. 

As Tom waxed old, however, he grew thought- 
ful. Having secured the good things of this 
world, he began to feel anxious about those of 
the next. He thought with regret on the bar- 
gain he had made with his black friend, and set 
his wits to work to cheat him out of the condi- 
tions. He became, therefore, all of a sudden,^ 
violent church-goer. He prayed loudly and stren- 
uously, as if heaven were to be taken by force of 
lungs. Indeed, one might always tell when he 
had sinned most during the week, by the clamor 
of his Sunday devotion. The quiet Christians 
who had been modestly and steadfastly travel- 
ling Zionward, were struck with self-reproach at 
seeing themselves so suddenly outstripped in their 
career by this new-made convert. Tom was as 
rigid in religious as in money matters ; he was 
a stern supervisor and censurer of his neighbor, 
and seemed to think every sin entered up to their 
account became a credit on his own side of the 
page. Pie even talked of the expediency of re 
viving the persecution of Quakers and Anabap- 
tists. In a word, Tom's zeal became as notorious 
as his riches. 

Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to 
29 



450 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

forms, Tom had a lurking dread that the devil, 
after all, would have his due. That he might 
not be taken unawares, therefore, it is said he 
always carried a small Bible in his coat-pocket. 
He had also a great folio Bible on his counting- 
house desk, and would frequently be found read- 
ing it when people called on business :, on such 
occasions he would lay his green spectacles in the 
book, to mark the place, while he turned round 
to drive some usurious bargain. 

Some say that Tom grevi^ a little crack-brained 
in his old days, and that, fancying his end ap- 
proaching, he had his horse new shod, saddled 
and bridled, and buried with his feet uppermost ; 
because he supposed that at the last day the 
world would be turned upside-down ; in which 
case he should find his horse standing ready for 
mounting, and he was determined at the worst 
to give his old friend a run for it. This, how- 
ever, is probably a mere old wives' fable. If he 
really did take such a precaution, it was totally 
superfluous ; at least so says the authentic old 
legend ; which closes his story in the following 
manner. 

One hot summer afternoon in the dog-days, 
just as a terrible black thunder-gust was coming 
up, Tom sat in his counting-house, in his white 
linen cap and India silk morning - gown. Ho 
was on the point of foreclosing a mortgage, by 
which he would complete the ruin of an unlucky 
land-speculator for whom he had professed the 
greatest friendship. The poor land-jobber begged 
him to ^rant a few months' indulgence. Tom hau 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 451 

grown testy and irritated, and refused another 
day. 

" My family will be ruined, and brought apon 
the parish," said the land-jobber. " Charity be- 
gins at home," replied Tom ; " I must take caro 
of myself in these hard times." 

" You have made so much money out of me," 
said the speculator. 

Tom lost his patience and his piety. " The 
devil take me," said he, " if I have made a 
farthing ! " 

Just then there were three loud knocks at the 
street-door. He stepped out to see who was 
there. A black man was holding a black horse, 
which neighed and stamped with impatience. 

" Tom, you 're come for," said the black fellow, 
gruffly. Tom shrank back, but too late. He had 
left his little Bible at the bottom of his coat- 
pocket, and his big Bible on the desk buried 
under the morto-ase he was about to foreclose : 
never was sinner taken more unawares. The 
black man whisked him like a child into the 
saddle, gave the horse the lash, and away he 
galloped, with Tom on his back, in the midst of 
the thunder-storm. The clerks stuck their pens 
behind their ears, and stared after him from the 
windows. Away went Tom Walker, dashing 
down the streets ; his white cap bobbing up and 
down ; his morninof-gown flutterino; in the wind, 
and his steed striking fire out of the pavement at 
every bound. When the clerks turned to look 
for the black man, he had disappeared. 

Tom Walker never returned to foreclose the 



452 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

mortgage. A countryman, who lived on the bor* 
der of the swamp, reported that m the height of 
the thunder-gust he had heard a great clattering 
of hoofs and a howling along the road, and run- 
ning to the window caught sight of a figure, such 
as I have described, on a horse that galloped like 
Riad across the fields, over the hills, and down 
into the black hemlock swamp towards the old 
Indian fort ; and that shortly after a thunder - 
bolt fallinoj in that direction seemed to set the 
whole forest in a blaze. 

The good people of Boston shook their heads 
and shrugged their shoulders, but had been so 
much accustomed to witches and goblins, and 
tricks of the devil, in all kinds of shapes, from 
the first settlement of the colony, that they were 
not so much horror-struck as might have been ex- 
pected. Trustees were appointed to take charge 
of Tom's effects. There was nothing, however, 
to administer upon. On searching his coffers, all 
his bonds and mortgages were found reduced to 
cinders. In place of gold and silver, his iron 
chest was filled with chips and shavings ; two 
skeletons lay in his stable instead of his half- 
starved horses, and the very next day his great 
house took fire and was burnt to the ground. 

Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill- 
gotten wealth. Let all griping money-brokers 
lay this story to heart. The truth of it is not to 
be doubted. The very hole under the oak-trees, 
whence he dug Kidd's money, is to be seen to 
tliis day ; and the neighboring swamp and old 
Indian fort are often haunted in stormy nights 



TEE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 453 

by a figure on horseback, in morning-gown and 
white cap, which is doubtless the troubled spirit 
of the usurer. In fact, the story has resolved 
itself into a proverb, and is the origin of that 
popular saying, so prevalent throughout New 
England, of " The Devil and Tom Walker." 

Such, as nearly as I can recollect, was the 
purport of the tale told by the Cape- Cod whaler. 
There were divers trivial particulars whioli I 
have omitted, and which whiled away the morn- 
ing very pleasantly, until the time of tide favor- 
able to fishing being passed, it was proposed to 
land, and refresh ourselves under the trees, till 
the noontide heat sliould have abated. 

We accordingly landed on a delectable part of 
the island of Manhatta, in that shady and em- 
bowered tract formerly under the domain of the 
ancient family of the Hardenbrooks. It was a 
spot well known to me in tlie course of the aquat- 
ic expeditions of my boyhood. Not far from 
where we landed there was an old Dutch family 
vault, constructed in the side of a bank, Mdiich 
had been an object of great awe and fable 
among my schoolboy associates. We had peeped 
into it during ,one of our coasting voyages, and 
been startled by the sight of mouldering coffins 
and musty bones within ; but what had given it 
the most fearful interest in our eyes, was its 
being in some way connected with the pirate 
^reck which lay rotting among the rocks of Hell- 
gate. There were stories also of smuggling con- 
aeeted vith it, particularly relating to a time 



454 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

when this redred spot was owned by a noted 
burgher, called Ready Money Provost; a man of 
whom it was whispered that he had many myste- 
rious dealings with parts beyond the seas. All 
these things, however, had been jumbled together 
in our minds in that vague way in which such 
themes ai^e mingled up in the tales of boyhood. 

While I was pondering upon these matters, 
my companions had spread a repast, fi'om the 
contents of our well - stored pannier, under a 
broad chestnut, on the greensward which swept 
down to the water's edge. Here we solaced 
ourselves on the cool grassy carpet during the 
warm sunny hours of mid-day. While lolling 
on the grass, indulging in that kind of musing 
reverie of which I am fond, I summoned up the 
dusky recollections of my boyhood respecting this 
place, and repeated them like the imperfectly 
remembered traces of a dream, for the amuse- 
ment of my companions. When I had finished, 
a worthy old burgher, John Josse Yandermoere. 
the same who once related to me the adventures 
of Dolph Heyliger, broke silence, and observed, 
that he recollected a story of money-digging, 
which occurred in this very neighborhood, and 
might account for some of the traditions which I 
had heard in my boyhood. As we knew him to 
be one of the most authentic narrators in the 
province, we begged him to let us have the par- 
ticulars, and accordingly, while we solaced our- 
selves with a clean long pipe of Blase Moore's 
best tobacco, the authentic John Josse Vander- 
naoere related the following tale. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 




I N the year of grace one thousand seven 
hundred and — blank — for I do not 
remember the precise date ; however, it 
was somewhere in the early part of the last cen- 
tury, there lived in the ancient city of the Man- 
hattoes a worthy burgher, Wolfert Webber by 
name. He was descended from old Cobus Web- 
ber of the Brille in Holland, one of the original 
settlers, famous for introducing the cultivation of 
cabbages, and who came over to the province 
during the protectorship of Oloflfe Van Kortlandt, 
otherwise called the Dreamer. 

The field in which Cobus Webber first planted 
himself and his cabbages had remained ever since 
in the family, who continued in the same line of 
husbandry, with that praiseworthy perseverance 
for which our Dutch burghers are noted. The 
whole family genius, during several generations, 
was devoted to the study and development of this 
one noble vegetable ; and to this concentration 
of intellect may doubtless be ascribed the pro- 
digious renown to which the Webber cabbages 
attained. 

The Webber dynasty continued in uninter- 
aipted succession ; and never did a line give 



456 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

more unquestionable proofs of legitimacy. The 
eldest son succeeded to the looks, as well as the 
territory of his sire , and had the portraits of 
this line of tranquil potentates been taken, they 
would have presented a row of heads marvel- 
lously resembling in shane and magnitude the 
vegetable.* over which they reigned. 

The seat of government continued unchanged 
in the familv mansion : — a Dutch-built house, 
with a front, or rather gable-end of yellow brick, 
tapering to a point, with the customary iron 
weathercock at the top. Everything about the 
buildino: bore the air of lono; - settled ease and 
security. Flights of martins peopled the little 
coops nailed against its walls, and swallows built 
their nests under the eaves ; and every one knows 
that these house-loving birds bring good luck to 
the dwelling where they take up their abode. 
In a bright summer morning in early summer, it 
was delectable to hear their cheerful notes, as 
they sported about in the pure sweet air, chirp- 
ing forth, as it were, the greatness and prosperity 
of the Webbers. 

Thus quietly and comfortably did this excel- 
lent family vegetate under the shade of a mighty 
button-wood tree, which by little and little grew 
so great as entirely' to overshadow their palace. 
The city gradually spread its suburbs round their 
domain. Houses sprang up to interrupt their 
prospects. The rural lanes in the vicinity began 
to grow into the bustle and populousness of 
streets ; in short, with all the habits of rustic 
jife they began to find themselves the inhabitaiita 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 457 

of a city. Still, however, they maintained their 
hereditary character, and hereditary possessions, 
with all the tenacity of petty German princes in 
the midst of the empire. Wolfert was the last 
of the line, and succeeded to the patriarchal 
bench at the door, under the family tree, and 
swayed the sceptre of his fathers, a kind of rural 
potentate in the midst of the metropolis. 

To share the cares and sweets of sovereignty, 
he had taken unto himself a helpmate, one of that 
excellent kind called stirring women ; that is to 
say, she was one of those notable little house- 
wives who are always busy where there is noth- 
ing to do. Her activity, however, took one par- 
ticular direction : her whole life seemed devoted 
to intense knitting ; whether at home or abroad, 
walking or sitting, her needles were continually 
in motion, and it is even affirmed that by her un- 
wearied industry she very nearly supplied her 
household with stockings throughout the year. 
This worthy couple were blessed with one 
daughter, v/ho was brought up with great tender- 
ness and care ; uncommon pains had been taken 
with her education, so that she could stitch in 
every variety. of way ; make all kinds of pickles 
and preserves, and mark her own name on a 
sampler. The influence of her taste was seen 
also in the family garden, where the ornamental 
began to mingle with the useful ; whole rows of 
fiery marigolds and splendid hollyhocks bordered 
the cabbage-beds ; and gigantic sunflowers lolled 
their broad jolly faces over the fences, seeming to 
ogle most affectionately the passers-by. 



458 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Thus reiarned and vesretated Wolfert Webber 
over his paternal acres, peacefully and content- 
edly. Not but that, like all other sovereigns, he 
had his occasional cares and vexations. The 
growth of his native city sometimes caused him 
annoyance. His little territory gradually became 
hemmed in by streets and houses, which inter 
cepted air and sunshine. He was now and then 
subjected to the irruptions of the border popula- 
tion that infest the streets of a metropolis ; who 
would make midnight forays into his dominions, 
and carry off captive whole platoons of his 
noblest subjects. Vagrant swine would make a 
descent, too, now and then, when the gate was 
left open, and lay all waste before them ; and mis- 
chievous urchins would decapitate the illustrious 
sunflowers, the glory of the garden, as they lolled 
their heads so fondly over the walls. Still all 
these were petty grievances, which might now 
and then ruffle the surface of his mind, as a 
summer breeze will rufile the surface of a mill- 
pond ; but they could not disturb the deep-seated 
quiet of his soul. He would but seize a trusty 
staff, that stood behind the door, issue suddenly 
out, and anoint the back of the aggressor, 
whether pig or urchin, and then return within 
doors, marvellously refreshed and tranquillized. 

The chief cause of anxiety to honest Wolfert, 
however, was the growing prosperity of the city. 
The expenses of living doubled and trebled ; but 
be could not double and treble the magnitude of 
his cabbages ; and the number of competitors pre- 
rented the increase of price ; tlnis, therefore, while 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 45S 

every one around him grew richer, Wolfert grew 
poorer, and he could not, for the life of him, per- 
ceive how the evil was to be remedied. 

This growing care, which increased from day 
to day, had its gradual effect upon our worthy 
burgher ; insomuch, that it at length implanted 
two or three wrinkles in his brow ; things un- 
known before in the family of the Webbers ; and 
it seemed to pinch up the corners of his cocked hat 
into an expression of anxiety, totally opposite to 
the tranquil, broad-brimmed, low-crowned beavers 
of his illustrious progenitors. 

Perhaps even this would not have materially 
disturbed the serenity of his mind, had he had 
only himself and his wife to care for ; but there 
was his daughter gradually growing to maturity ; 
and all the world knows that when daughters 
begin to ripen, no fruit nor flower requires so 
mucli lookino; after. I have no talent at describ- 
iiig female charms, else fain would 1 depict the 
progress of this little Dutch beauty. How her 
blue eyes grew deeper and deeper, and her cherry 
lips redder and redder ; and how she ripened and 
ripened, and rounded and rounded in the opening 
bi'eath of sixteen summers, until, in her seven- 
teenth spring, she seemed ready to burst out of 
her bodice, like a half-blown rose-bud. 

Ah, well-a-day ! could I but show her as she 
was then, tricked out on a Sunday morning, in 
the hereditary finery of the old Dutch clothes- 
press, of which her mother had contided to hei 
the key. The wedding-dress of her grandmother, 
modernized for use, with sundry ornaments, handed 



460 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

down as heirlooms in the family. Her pale 
brown hair smoothed with buttermilk in flat 
waving lines on eacli side of her fair forehead. 
The chain of yellow virgin gold, that encircled 
her neck ; the little cross, that just rested at the 
entrance of a soft valley of happiness, as if it 
would sanctify the place. The — but, pooh ! — it 
is not for an old man like me to be prosing about 
female beauty ; suffice it to say. Amy had at- 
tained her seventeenth year. Long since had her 
sampler exhibited hearts in couples desperately 
transfixed with arrows, and true lovers' knots 
worked in deep blue silk ; and it was evident she 
beojan to lano-uish for some more interesting occu- 
pation than the rearing of sunflowers or pickling 
of cucumbers. 

At this critical period of female existence, 
when the heart within a damsel's bosom, like its 
emblem, the miniature which hangs without, is 
apt to be engrossed by a single image, a new 
visitor began to make his appearance under the 
roof of Wolfert Webber. This was Dirk Wal- 
dron, the only son of a poor widow, but who 
could boast of more fathers than any lad in the 
province ; for his mother had had four husbands, 
. a-nd this only child ; so that though born in her 
last wedlock, he might fairly claim to be the tardy 
fruit of a Ions: course of cultivation. This son of 
four fathers united the merits and the vigor of 
all his sires. If he had not had a great family 
before him, he seemed likely to have a great one 
after him ; for you had only to look at the fresh 
hucksome youth, to see that he was formed to be 
the founder of a mighty race. 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 461 

This youngster gradually became an intimate 
visitor of the family. He talked little, but he 
Bat long. He filled the father's pipe when it was 
emptv, gathered up the mother's knitting-needle, 
or ball of worsted when it fell to the ground ; 
stroked the sleek coat of the tortoise-shell cat, 
and replenished the tea-pot for the daughter from 
the bright copper kettle that sang before the fire. 
All these quiet little offices may seem of trifling 
import ; but when true love is translated into 
Low Dutch, it is in this way that it eloquently 
expresses itself. They were not lost upon the 
Webber family. The winning youngster found 
marvellous favor in the eyes of the mother ; the 
tortoise-shell cat, albeit the most staid and demure 
of her kind, gave indubitable signs of approba- 
W'on of his visits ; the tea-kettle seemed to sing out 
a cheering note of welcome at his approach ; and 
if the sly glances of the daughter might be rightly 
read, as she sat bridling and dimpling, and sew- 
ing by her mother's side, she was not a whit 
behind Dame Webber, or grimalkin, or the tea- 
kettle, in good-will. 

Wolfert alone saw nothing of what was going 
on. Profoundly wrapt up in meditation on the 
growth of the city and his cabbages, he sat look- 
ing in the fire, and puffing his pipe in silence. 
One night, however, as the gentle Amy, accord- 
ing to custom, lighted her lover to the outer door, 
and he, according to custom, took his parting 
Balute, the smack resound^ 1 so vigorously through 
Jie long, silent entry, as to startle even the dull 
ear of Wolfert. He was slowly roused to a new 



462 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

source of anxiety. It had never entered into 
his head fhat this mere child, who, as it seemed, 
but the other day had been climbing about his 
knees, and playing with dolls and baby-houses, 
could all at once be thinkins: of lovers and mat- 
rimony. He rubbed his eyes, examined into the 
fact, and really found that, while he had been 
dreaming of other matters, she had actually 
grown to be a woman, and what was worse, had 
fallen in love. Here arose new cares for Wolfert. 
He was a kind father, but he was a prudent 
man. The young man was a lively, stirring lad ; 
but then he had neither money nor land. Wol- 
fert's ideas all ran in one channel; and he saw 
no alternative in case of a marriage but to por- 
tion off the young couple with a corner of his 
cabbage-garden, the whole of which was barely 
sufficient for the support of his family. 

Like a prudent father, therefore, he deter- 
mined to nip this passion in the bud, and forbade 
the youngster the house ; though sorely did it go 
against his fatherly heart, and many a silent tear 
did it cause in the bright eye of his daughter. 
She showed herself, however, a pattern of filial pie- 
ty and obedience. She never pouted and sulked ; 
she never flew in the face of parental authority ; 
she never flew into a passion, nor fell into hys- 
terics, as many romantic novel-read young ladies 
would do. Not she, indeed ! She was none such 
heroical rebellious trumpery, I '11 warrant ye. 
On the contrary, she acquiesced like an obedient 
daughter, shut the street-door in her lover's face> 
and if ever she did grant him an interview, it 



WOLF Ear WEBBER. 46^ 

was either out of the kitchen-window, or over the 
garden-fence. 

Wolfert was deeply cogitating these matters 
in his mind, and his brow Avrinkled with unusual 
care, as he wended his way one Saturday after- 
noon to a rural inn, about two miles from the 
city. It was a favorite resort of the Dutch part 
of the community, from being always held by a 
Dutch line of landlords, and retaining an air and 
relish of the good old times. It was a Dutch- 
built house, that had probably been a country 
seat of some opulent burgher in the early time 
of the settlement. It stood near a point of land 
called Corlear's Hook, which stretches out into 
the Sound, and against which the tide, at its flux 
and reflux, sets with extraordinary rapidity. 
The venerable and somewhat crazy mansion was 
distinguished from afar by a grove of elms and 
sycamores that seemed to wave a hospitable invi- 
tation, while a few weeping-willows, with their 
dank, drooping foliage, resembling falling waters, 
gave an idea of coolness, that rendered it an 
attractive spot during the heats of summer. 

Here, therefore, as I said, resorted many of the 
old inhabitants of the Manhattoes, where, while 
some played at shuffle-board and quoits and nine- 
pins, others smoked a deliberate pipe, and talked 
over public afiuirs. 

It was on a blustering autumnal afternoon 
that Wolfert made his visit to the inn. The 
grove of elms and willows was stripped of its 
leaves, which whirled in rustling eddies about the 
(ields. The ninepin alley was deserted, for the 



464 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

premature chilliness of the day had driven the 
company within doors. As it was Saturday 
afternoon, the habitual club was in session, com- 
posed principally of regular Dutch burghers, 
though mingled occasionally witli persons of va- 
rious character and country, as is natural in a 
place of such motley population. 

Beside the fireplace, in a huge leather-bottc med 
arm-chair, sat the dictator of this little world, the 
venerable Rem, or, as it was pronounced, Ramm 
Rapelye. He was a man of Walloon race, and 
illustrious for the antiquity of his line ; his great- 
grandmother having been the first white child born 
in the province. But he was still more illustrious 
for his wealth and dignity: he had long filled the 
noble office of alderman, and was a man to whom 
the governor himself took off his hat. He had 
maintained possession of the leather-bottomed 
chair from time immemorial ; and had gradually 
waxed in bulk as he sat in his seat of govern- 
ment, until in the course of years he filled its 
whole magnitude. His word was decisive with 
his subjects ; for he was so rich a man that he 
was never expected to support any opinion by 
argument. The landlord waited on him with 
peculiar officiousness ; not that he paid better than 
his neighbors, but then the coin of a rich man 
seems always to be so much more acceptable 
The landlord had ever a pleasant word and a 
joke to insinuate in the ear of the august Ramm. 
It is true, Ramm never laughed, and, indeed, ever 
maintained a mastiiSf-like gravity, and even sur- 
liness of aspect; yet he now and then rewai*ded 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 465 

mine host with a token of approbation ; which, 
though nothing more nor less than a kind of 
grunt, still delio;hted the landlord more than a 
broad laugh from a poorer man. 

" This will be a rough night for the money- 
diggers," said mine host, as a gust of wind howled 
round the house, and rattled at the windows. 

" What ! are they at their works again ? " said 
an English half-pay captain, with one eye, who 
was a very frequent attendant at the inn. 

" Aye, are they," said the landlord, " and well 
may they be. They 've had luck of late. They 
say a great pot of money has been dug up in the 
fields, just behind Stuyvesant's orchard. Folks 
think it must have been buried there in old times, 
by Peter Stuyvesant, the Dutch governor." 

" Fudge ! " said the one-eyed man of war, as 
he added a small portion of water to a bottom of 
brandy. 

" Well, you may believe it or not, as you 
please," said mine host, somewhat nettled ; " but 
everybody knows that the old governor buried a 
great deal of his money at t!ie time of the Dutch 
troubles, when the English red - coats seized on 
the province. They say, too, the old gentleman 
walks ; aye, and in the very same dress that' he 
wears in the picture that hangs up in the family 
house." 

" Fudge I " said the half-pay officer. 

" Fudge, if you please ! — But did n't Comey 
Van Zandt see him at midnight, stalking about 
in the meadow with his wooden leg, and a drawn 
sword in his hand, that flashed like fire ? And 

30 



466 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

what can he be walking for, but because people 
have been trouoling the place where he buried 
his money in old times ? " 

Here the landlord was interrupted by several 
guttural sounds from Ramm Rapelye, betokening 
that he was laboring with the unusual product: ce 
of an idea. As he was too great a man to be 
slighted by a prudent publican, mine host respect- 
fully paused until he should deliver himself. The 
corpulent frame of this mighty burgher now gave 
all the symptoms of a volcanic mountain on the 
point of an eruption. First, there was a certain 
heaving of the abdomen, not unlike an earth- 
quake ; then was emitted a cloud of tobacco- 
smoke from that crater, his mouth ; then there 
was a kind of rattle in the throat, as if the idea 
were working its way up through a region of 
phlegm ; then there were several disjointed mem- 
bers of a sentence thrown out, ending in a cough ; 
at length his voice forced its way into a slow, 
but absolute tone of a man who feels the weight 
of his purse, if not of his ideas ; every portion of 
his speech being marked by a testy puff of to- 
bacco-smoke. 

" Who talks of old Peter Stuyvesant's walk- 
ing ? — puff — Have people no respect for per- 
sons? — puflP — puff — Peter Stuyvesant knew 
better what to do with his money than to bury it 

— puff — I know the Stuyvesant family — puff 

— every one of them — puff — not a more re- 
spectable family in the province — puff — old 
standards — puff — warm householders — puff — 
none of your upstarts — puff — puff — puff. — 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 467 

Don't talk to me of Peter Stuyvesant's walking — 
puff — puff — puff — puff." 

Here the redoubtable Ramm contracted his 
brow, clasped up his mouth, till it wrinkled at 
each corner, and redoubled his smoking with such 
vehemence, that the cloudy volumes soon wreathed 
round his head, as the smoke envelops the awful 
summit of Mount ^tna. 

A general silence followed the sudden rebuke 
of this very rich man. The subject, however, 
was too interesting to be readily abandoned. The 
conversation soon broke forth again from the lips 
of Peechy Prauw Van Hook, the chronicler of 
the club, one of those prosing, narrative old men 
who seem to be troubled with an incontinence of 
words, as they grow old. 

Peechy could, at any time, tell as many stories 
in an evenino; as his hearers could digest in a 
month. He now resumed the conversation, by 
affirming that, to his knowledge, money had, at 
different times, been digged up in various parts 
of the island. The lucky persons who had dis- 
covered them had always dreamt of them three 
times beforehand, and what was worthy of remark, 
those treasures had never been found but by some 
descendant of the good okl Dutch families, which 
clearly proved that they had been buried by 
Dutchmen in the olden time. 

" Fiddlestick with your Dutchmen ! " cried the 
half-pay officer. '' Tiie Dutch had nothing to do 
with them. They were all buried by Kidd the 
oirate, and his crew." 

Here a key-note was touched that roused the 



4:68 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

whole companj. The name of Captain Kidd 
was like a talisman in those times, and was asso- 
ciated with a thousand mai'vellous stories. 

The half-pay officer took the lead, and in his 
narrations fathered upon Kidd all the plunder- 
ings and exploits of Morgan, Blackbeai'd, and the 
whole list of bloody buccaneers. 

The officer was a man of great weight among 
the peaceable members of the club, by reason of 
his warlike character and gunpowder tales. All 
his golden stories of Kidd, however, and of the 
booty he had buried, were obstinately rivalled by 
the tales of Peechy Prauw, who, rather than suf- 
fer his Dutch progenitors to be eclipsed by a 
foreign freebooter, enriched every field and shore 
in the neighborhood with the hidden wealth of 
Peter Stuyvesant and his contemporaries. 

Not a word of this conversation was lost upon 
Wolfert Webber. He returned pensively home, 
full of magnificent ideas. The soil of his native 
island seemed to be turned into gold dust ; and 
every field to teem with treasure. His head 
almost reeled at the thought how often he must 
have heedlessly rambled over places where count- 
less sums lay, scarcely covered by the turf beneath 
his feet. His mind was in an uproar with this 
whirl of new ideas. As he came in sight of the 
venerable mansion of his forefathers, and the little 
realm wdiere the Webbers had so long, and so 
contentedly flourished, his gorge rose at the nar- 
rowness of his destiny. 

" Unlucky Wolfert ! " exclaimed he ; " others 
can go to bed and dream themselves into whole 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 463 

miiies of wealth ; they have but to seize a spade 
in the morning, and turn up doubloons like pota- 
toes ; but thou must dream of hardships, and rise 
to poverty, — must dig thy field from year's end 
to year's end, and yet raise notliing but cab- 
bages ! " 

Wolfert Webber went to bed with a heavy 
heart ; and it was long before the golden visions 
that disturbed his brain permitted him to sink 
into repose. The same visions, liowever, extended 
into his sleeping thoughts, and assumed a more 
definite form. He dreamt that he had discovered 
an immense treasure in the centre of his garden. 
At every stroke of the spade he laid bare a gol- 
den ingot ; diamond crosses sparkled out of the 
dust ; bags of money turned up their bellies, cor- 
pulent with pieces-of-eight, or venerable doub- 
loons ; and chests, wedged close with moidores, 
ducats, and pistareens, yawned before his ravished 
eyes, and vomited forth their glittering contents. 

Wolfert awoke a poorer man than ever. Pie 
had no heart to go about his daily concerns, 
which appeared so paltry and profitless ; but sat 
all day long in the chimney-corner, picturing to 
himself ingots and heaps of gold in the fire. The 
next night his dream was repeated. He was 
again in his garden, digging, and laying open 
stores of hidden wealth. There was something 
very singular in this repetition. He passed 
another day of reverie, and though it was clean- 
ing-day, and the house, as usual in Dutch house- 
holds, completely topsy-turvy, yet he sat unmovexi 
amidst the general uproar. 



470 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

The third night he went to bed with a palpi 
tating heart. He put on his red night-cap wrong 
side ontwards, for good luck. It was deep mid- 
night before his anxious mind could settle itself 
into sleep. Again the golden dream was repeated, 
and again he saw his garden teeming with ingots 
and money-bags. 

Wolfert rose the next morning in complete be- 
wilderment. A dream, three times repeated, was 
never known to lie ; and if so, his fortune was 
made. 

In his agitation he put on his waistcoat with 
the hind part before, and this was a corroboration 
of good luck. He no longer doubted that a huge 
store of money lay buried somewhere in his cab- 
bage-field, coyly waiting to be sought for ; and 
he repined at having so long been scratching 
about the surface of the soil instead of digging to 
the centre. 

He took his seat at the breakfast-table full of 
these speculations ; asked his daughter to put a 
lump of gold into his tea, and on handing his wife 
a plate of slap-jacks, begged her to help herself 
to a doubloon. 

His grand care now was how to secure this 
immense treasure without its being known. In- 
stead of his working regularly in his grounds in 
the daytime, he now stole from his bed at night, 
and with spade and pickaxe went to work to rip 
up and dig about his paternal acres, from one end 
to the otlier. In a little time the whole garden, 
which had presented such a goodly and regular 
appearance, with its phalanx of cabbages, like a 



WOLFERT WEBBER. ^ 471 

regetable army in battle array, was reduced to a 
Bcene of devastation ; while the relentless Wol- 
fert, with night-cap on head, and lantern and 
epade in hand, stalked through the slaughtered 
ranks, the destroying angel of his own vegetable 
world. 

Every morning bore testimony to the ravages 
of the preceding night in cabbages of all ages and 
conditions, from the tender sprout to the full- 
grown head, piteously rooted from their quiet 
beds like worthless weeds, and left to wither in 
the sunshine. In vain Wolfert's wife remon- 
strated ; in vain his darling daughter wept over 
the destruction of some favorite marigold. " Thou 
shalt have gold of another guess sort," he would 
cry, chucking her under the chin ; " thou shalt 
have a string of crooked ducats for thy wedding 
necklace, my child." His family began really to 
fear that the poor man's wits were diseased. He 
muttered in his sleep at night about mines of 
wealth, about pearls and diamonds, and bars of 
gold. In the daytime he was moody and ab- 
stracted, and walked about as if in a trance. 
Dame Webber held frequent councils with all 
the old women of the neighborhood ; scarce an 
hour in the day but a knot of them might be 
eeen wagging their white caps together round 
her door, while the poor woman made some pit- 
eous recital. The daughter, too, was fain to seek 
for more frequent consolation from the stolen in- 
terviews of her favored swain. Dirk Waldron. 
The delectable little Dutch songs, with which she 
used to dulcify the house, grew less and less fre* 



472 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

qnent, and she would forget her sewing, and 
look wistfully in her father's face as he sat pon- 
dering by the fireside. Wolfert caught her eye 
one day fixed on Inm thus anxiously, and for a 
moment was roused from his golden reveries. — 
" Cheer up, my girl," said he, exultingly ; " why 
dost thou droop ? — thou shalt hold up thy head 
one day with the BrinckerhofFs, and the Scher- 
merhorns, the Van Homes, and the Van Dams. 
By Saint Nicholas, but the patroon himself shall 
be glad to get thee for his son ! " 

Amy shook her head at his vainglorious boast, 
and was more than ever in doubt of the sound- 
ness of the good man's intellect. 

In the mean time Wolfert went on digging and 
difrGrins: ; but the field was extensive, and as his 
dream had indicated no precise spot, he had to 
disr at random. The winter set in befoi'e one 
tenth of the scene of promise had been explored. 

The ground became frozen hard, and the nights 
too cold for the labors of the spade. 

No sooner, however, did the returning warmth 
of spring loosen the soil, and the small frogs be- 
gin to pipe in the meadows, but Wolfert resumed 
his labors with renovated zeal. Still, however, 
the hours of industry were reversed. 

Instead of working cheerily all day, planting 
and setting out his vegetables, he remained 
thoughtfully idle, until the shades of night sum- 
moned him to his secret labors. In this way he 
continued to dig from night to night, and week 
to week, and month to month, but not a stiver 
did he find. On the contrary, the more he 



•WOLFERT WEBBER. 473 

digged, the poorer lie grew. The rich soil of 
his garden was digged away, and the sand and 
gravel from beneath was thrown to the surface, 
until the whole field presented an aspect of sandy- 
barrenness. 

In the mean time, the seasons gradually rolled 
on. The little frogs which had piped in the 
meadows in early spring, croaked as bull-frogs 
during the simimer heats, and then sank into si- 
lence. The peach-tree budded, blossomed, and 
bore its fruit. The swallows and martins came, 
twitted about the roof, built their nests, reared 
their young, held their congress along the eaves, 
and then wino;ed their flio-ht in search of anotlier 
spring. The caterpillar spun its winding-sheet, 
danojled in it from the a-reat button-wood tree be- 
fore the house ; turned into a moth, fluttered with 
the last sunshine of summer, and disappeared ; 
and finally the leaves of the button-wood tree 
turned yellow, then brown, then rustled one by 
one to the ground, and whirling about in little ed- 
dies of wind and dust, whispered that winter was 
at hand. 

Wolfert gradually woke from his dream of 
wealth as the year declined. He had reared no 
crop for the supply of his household during the 
sterility of winter. The season was long and 
severe, and for the first time the family was 
really straitefted in its comforts. By degrees a 
revulsion of thought took place in Wolfert's mind, 
common to those whose golden dreams have been 
disturbed by pinching realities. The idea gradu- 
ally stole upon him that he should come to want. 



474 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 

He already considered himself one of the most 
unfortunate men in the province, having lost such 
an incalculable amount of undiscovered treasure, 
and now, when thousands of pounds had eluded 
his search, to be perplexed for shillings and pence, 
was cruel in the extreme. 

Haggard care gathered about his brow ; he 
went about with a money-seeking air, his eyes 
bent downwards into the dust, and carrying his 
hands in his pockets, as men are apt to do when 
they have nothing else to put into them. He 
could not even pass the city almshouse without 
giving it a rueful glance, as if destined to be his 
future abode. 

The strangeness of his conduct and of his looks 
occasioned much speculation and remark. For 
a long time he was suspected of being crazy, and 
then everybody pitied him ; and at length it be- 
gan to be suspected that he was poor, and then 
everybody avoided him. 

The rich old burghers of his acquaintance met 
him outside of the door when he called, enter- 
tained him hospitably on the threshold, pressed 
him warmly by the hand at parting, shook their 
heads as he walked away, with the kind-hearted 
expression of " poor Wolfert," and turned a cor- 
ner nimbly if by chance they saw him approach- 
ing as they walked the streets. Even the barber 
and the cobbler of the neighborhof)d, and a tat- 
tered tailor in an alley hard by, three of the poor- 
est and merriest rogues in the world, eyed him 
with that abundant sympathy which usually at- 
tends a lack of means ; and there is not a doubt 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 475 

but tlieir pockets would have been at his command) 
only that they happened to be empty, 

Thus everybody deserted the Webber mansion, 
as if poverty were contagious, like the plague ; 
everybody but honest Dirk Waldron, who still 
kept up his stolen visits to the daughter, and in- 
deed seemed to wax more affectionate as the for- 
tunes of his mistress were in the wane. 

Many months had elapsed since Wolfert had 
frequented his old resort, the rural inn. He was 
taking a long lonely walk one Saturday afternoon, 
musing over his wants and disappointments, when 
his feet took instinctively their wonted direction, 
and on awaking out of a reverie, he found him- 
self before tlie door of the inn. For some mo- 
ments he hesitated whether to enter, but his heart 
yearned for companionship ; and where can a 
ruined man find better companionship than at a 
tavern, where there is neither sober example nor 
sober advice to put him out of countenance ? 

Wolfert found several of the old frequenters 
of the inn at their usual posts, and seated in their 
usual places ; but one was missing, the great 
Ramra Rapelye, who for many years had filled 
the leather-bottomed chair of state* His place 
was supplied by a stranger, who seemed, however, 
completely at home in the chair and the tavern. 
He was rather under size, but deep - chested, 
square, and muscidar. His broad shoulders, 
double joints, and bow knees, gave tokens of pro- 
dijrious strensrth. His face was dark and weather- 
beaten ; a deep scar, as if from the slash of a cut- 
lass, had almost divided his nose, and made a 



176 TALES OF A inAVELLER. 

gash in his upper lip, through which his teeth 
shone like a bull-dog's. A mop of iron-gray hair 
gave a grisly finish to this hard-favored visage. 
His dress was of an amphibious character. He 
wore an old hat edged with tarnished lace, and 
cocked in martial style, on one side of his head ; 
a rusty blue military coat with brass buttons, and 
a wide pair of short petticoat trousers, or rather 
breeches, for they were gathered up at the knees. 
He ordered everybody about him with an au- 
thoritative air ; talking in a brattling voice, that 
sounded like the crackling of thorns under a pot ; 

d d the landlord and servants with perfect 

impunity, and was waited upon with greater ob- 
sequiousness than had ever been shown to the 
mighty Ramm himself. 

Wolfert's curiosity was awakened to know who 
and what was this stranger, who had thus usurped 
absolute sway in this ancient domain. Peechy 
Prauw took him aside, into a remote corner of 
the hall, and there, in an under voice, and with 
great caution, imparted to him all that he knew 
on the subject. The inn had been aroused sev- 
eral months before, on a dark stormy night, by 
repeated long shouts, that seemed like the bowl- 
ings of a wolf. They came from the water-side ; 
and at length were disting-uished to be hailinsr the 
house in the seafaring manner, "• House-a-hoy ! " 
The landlord turned out with his head waiter, 
tapster, hostler, and errand-boy, — that is to say, 
with his old negro Cuff. On approaching the 
place whence the voice proceeded, they found thia 
amphibious-looking personage at the water's edge, 



WOLFLRT WEBBER. 477 

quite alone, and seated on a great oaken sea-chest. 
How lie came there, whether he had been set on 
shore from some boat, or had floated to land on 
his chest, nobody coidd tell, for he did not seem 
disposed to answer questions ; and there was 
somethhig in his looks and manners that put a stop 
to all questioning. Sutfice it to say, he took pos- 
session of a corner-room of the inn, to which his 
chest was removed with great difficulty. Here 
he had remained ever since, keeping about the 
inn and its vicinity. Sometimes, it is true, he 
disappeared for one, two, or three days at a time, 
going and returning without giving any notice or 
account of his movements. He always appeared 
to have plenty of money, though often of very 
strange outlandish coinage ; and he regularly paid 
his bill every evening before turning in. 

He had fitted up his room to his own fancy, 
havino; slunor a hammock from the ceilino- instead 
of a bed, and decorated the walls with rusty pis- 
tols and cutlasses of foreign workmanship. A 
greater part of his time was passed in this room, 
seated by the window, which commanded a wide 
view of the Sound, a short old-fashioned pipe in 
his mouth, a glass of rum-toddy at his elbow, and 
a pocket - telescope in his hand, with which he 
reconnoitred every boat that moved upon the 
water. Large square - rigged vessels seemed to 
excite but little attention ; but the moment he 
descried anything with a shoulder-of-mutton sail, 
or that a, barge, or yawl, or jolly-boat hove in 
eight, up went the telescope, and he examined it 
writh the most scrupulous attention. 



478 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

All this might have passed without much n(»- 
tice, for in those times the province was so much 
the resort of adventurers of all characters and 
climes, that any oddity in dress or behavior at- 
tracted but small attention. In a little while, 
however, this strange sea-monster, thus strangely 
cast upon dry land, began to encroach upon the 
long-established customs and customers of the 
place, and to interfere in a dictatorial manner in 
the affairs of the ninepin alley and the bar-room, 
until in the end' he usurped an absolute connnand 
over the whole inn. It was all in vain to at- 
tempt to withstand his authority. He was not 
exactly quarrelsome, but boisterous and peremp- 
tory, like one accustomed to tyrannize on a quar- 
ter-deck ; and there was a dare-devil air about 
everything he said and did, that inspired wariness 
in all by-standers. Even the half-pay officer, so 
long the hero of the club, was soon silenced by 
him ; and tlie quiet burghers stared with wonder 
at seeing their inflammable man of war so readily 
and quietly extinguished. 

And then the tales that he would tell were 
enough to make a peaceable man's hair stand on 
end. There was not a sea-fiMit, nor marauding 
nor freebooting adventure that had happened 
within the last twenty years, but he seemed per- 
fectly versed in it. He delighted to talk of the 
exploits of the buccaneers in the West Indies, 
and on the Spanish Main. How his eyes would 
glisten as he described the waylaying of treasure- 
ehips, the desperate lights, yard-arm and yard-arm 
•~- broadside and broadside — the boarding and 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 479 

capturing huge Spanish galleons ! "With what 
chuckling relish would he describe the descent 
upon some rich Spanish colony ; the rifling of a 
church ; the sacking of a convent ! You would 
have thought you heard some gormandizer dilating 
upon the roasting of a savory goose at Michael- 
mas as he described the roasting of some- Span- 
ish Don to make him discover his treasure — a 
detail given with a minuteness that made every 
rich old burgher present turn uncomfortably in 
his chair. All this would be told with infinite 
glee, as if he considered it an excellent joke ; 
and then he would give such a tyrannical leer in 
the face of his next neighbor, that the poor man 
would be fain to laugh out of sheer faint-hearted- 
ness. If any one, however, pretended to contra- 
dict him in any of his stories, he was on fire in an 
instant. His very cocked hat assumed a momen- 
tary fierceness, and seemed to resent the contra- 
diction. " How the devil should you know as 
well as I ? — I tell you it was as I say ; " and he 
would at the same time let slip a broadside of 
thundering oaths and tremendous sea-phrases, 
such as had never been heard before within these 
peaceful walls. 

Indeed, the worthy burghers began to surmise 
that he knew more of those stories than mere 
hearsay. Day after day their conjectures con- 
cerning him grew more and more wild and fear- 
ful. The strangeness of his arrival, the strange- 
ness of his manners, the mystery that surrounded 
him, all made him something incomprehensible in 
their eyes. He was a kind of monster of the 



480 TALES OF A TRAVELLEK. 

deep to them — he was a merman — he was a 
behemoth — he was a leviathan — in short, they 
knew not what he was. 

The domiDeering spirit of this boisterous sea 
urchin at lengtli grew quite intolerable. He was 
no respecter of persons; he contradicted the 
richest burghers Mdthout hesitation ; he took pos- 
session of the sacred elbow-chair, which, time out 
of mhid, had been the seat of sovereignty of the 
illustrious Ramm Kapelye. Nay, he even went 
so far, in one of his rough jocular moods, as to 
slap that mighty burgher on the back, drink his 
toddy, and wink in his face, a thing scarcely to be 
believed. From this time Ramm Rapelye ap- 
peared no more at the inn ; his example was fol- 
lowed by several of the most eminent customers, 
who were too rich to tolerate being bullied out 
of their opinions, or being obliged to laugh at 
another man's jokes. The landlord was almost 
in despair ; but he knew not how to get rid of 
this sea-monster and his sea-chest, who seemed both 
to have grown like fixtures, or excrescences, on 
his estabhshment. 

Sucli was the account whispered cautiously in 
Wolfert's ear, by the narrator, Peechy Prauw, as 
he held him by the butjton in a corner of the hall, 
casting a wary glance now and then towards the 
door of the bar-room, lest he should be overheard 
by the teriible hero of his tale. 

Wolfert took his seat in a remote part of the 
room in silence ; impressed with profound awe of 
this unknown, so versed in freebooting history. 
It was to him a wonderful instance of the revo- 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 481 

lutions of miglity empires, to find the venerable 
Ramm Rapelye thus ousted from the throne, and 
a rugged tarpauling dictating from his elbow- 
chair, hectoring the patriarchs, and filling this 
tranquil little realm with brawl and bravado. 

The strano-er was on this evenino- in a more 
than usually communicative mood, and was narrat- 
ing a number of astounding stories of plunder- 
ino;s and burnino^s on the high seas. He dwelt 
upon them with peculiar relish, heightening the 
frightful particulars in proportion to their effect 
on his peaceful auditors. He gave a swaggering 
letail of the capture of a Spanish merchantman. 
She was lying becalmed during a long summer's 
day, just off from the island which was one of the 
lurking-places of the pirates. They had recon- 
noitred her with their spy-glasses from the shore, 
and ascertained her character and force. At 
night a picked crew of daring fellows set off for 
her in a whale-boat. They approached with 
muflSed oars, as she lay rocking idly with the un- 
dulations of the sea, and her sails flapping against 
the masts. They were close under the stern be- 
fore the guard on deck was aware of their ap- 
proach. The alarm was given ; the pirates threw 
hand-grenades on deck, and sprang up the main 
chains, sword in hand. 

The crew flew to arms, but in great confusion ; 
some were shot down, others took refuge in the 
tops ; others were driven overboard and drowned, 
while others fought hand to hand from the main- 
deck to the quarter-deck, disputing gallantly every 
Lack of ground. There were three Spanish gen- 

31 



182 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

tlemen on board with their ladies, who made the 
most desperate resistance. They defended the 
companion-way, cut down several of their assail- 
ants, and fought like very devils, for they were 
maddened by the shrieks of the ladies from the 
cabin. One of the Dons was old, and soon dis- 
patched. The other two kept their ground vig- 
orously, even though the captain of the pirates 
was among their assailants. Just then there was 
a shout of victory from the main-deck. " The 
ship is ours ! " cried the pirates. 

One of the Dons immediately dropped his 
sword and surrendered ; the other, who was a hot- 
headed youngster, and just married, gave the 
captain a slash in the face that laid all open. 
The captain just made out to articulate the words 
" no quarter." 

" And what did they do with their prisoners ? " 
said Peechy Prauw, eagerly. 

" Threw them all overboard," was the answer. 
A dead pause followed the reply. Peechy Prauw 
sunk quietly back, like a man who had unwarily 
stolen upon the lair of a sleeping lion. The hon- 
est burghers cast fearful glances at the deep scar 
slashed across the visage of the stranger, and 
moved their chairs a little farther off. The sea- 
man, however, smoked on without moving a mus- 
cle, as though he either did not perceive or did 
not regard the unfavorable effect he had produced 
upon his hearers. 

The half-pay officer was the first to break the 
silence ; for he was continually tempted to make 
ineffectual head against this tyrant of the seas, 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 483 

a ad to regain his lost consequence in tlie eyes of 
his ancient companions. He now tried to match 
the gunpowder tales of the stranger by others 
equally tremendous. Kiddj as usual, vvas his hero, 
concerning whom he seemed to have picked up 
many of the floating traditions of the province. 
The seaman had always evinced a settled pique 
against the one-eyed warrior. On this occasion 
he listened with peculiar impatience. He sat 
with one arm akimbo, the other elbow on the 
table, the hand holding on to the small pipe he 
was pettishly puffing ; his legs cross«?d ; drum- 
ming with one foot on the ground, .^tud casting 
every now and then the side-glance of a basilisk 
at the prosing captain. At length the latter 
spoke of Kidd's having ascended the Hudson with 
some of his crew, to land his plunder in secrecy. 

" Kidd up the Hudson ! " burst forth the sea- 
man, with a tremendous oath, — " Kidd never was 
up the Hudson ! " 

" I tell you he was," said the other. " Aye, 
and they say he "buried a quantity of treasure on 
the little flat that runs out into the river, called 
the Devil's Dans Kammer." 

" The Devil's Dans Kammer in your teeth ! '* 
cried the seaman. " I tell you Kidd never was 
up the Hudson. What a plague do you know 
of Kidd and his haunts ? " 

" What do I know ? " echoed the half-pay ofli 
cer. " Why, I was in London at the time of his 
trial ;■ aye, and I had the pleasure of seeing hira 
hanged at Execution Dock." 

" Then, sir, let me tell you that you saw as 



484 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

pretty a fellow hanged as ever trod slioe-leather 
Aye ! " putting his face nearer to that of the offi- 
cer, " and there was many a land-lubber looked on 
that mi«;ht much better have swuns; in his stead." 

The half-pay officer was silenced ; but the in- 
dignation thus pent up in his bosom glowed with 
intense vehemence in his single eye, which kin- 
dled like a coal. 

Peechy Prauw, who never could remam si 
lent, observed that the gentleman certainly was in 
the right. Kidd never did bury money up the 
Hudson, nor indeed in any of those parts, though 
many affirmed such to be the fact. It was Brad- 
ish and others of the buccaneers who had buried 
money ; some said in Turtle Bay, others on Long 
Island, others in the neighborhood of Hell-gate. 
Indeed, added he, I recollect an adventure of 
Sam, the negro fisherman, many years ago, which 
some think had somethins^ to do with the bucca- 
neers. As we are all friends here, and as it will 
go no further, I '11 tell it to you. 

" Upon a dark night many years ago, as Black 
Sam was returning from fishing in Hell-gate " — 

Here the story was nipped in the bud by a 
sudden movement from the unknown, who laying 
his iron fist on the table, knuckles downward, 
with a quiet force that indented the very boards, 
and looking grimly over his shoulder, with the 
grin of an angry bear, — " Heark'ee, neighbor," 
said he, with significant nodding of the head, 
" you 'd better let the buccaneers and their money 
alone, — they 're not for old men and old women 
to meddle with T'hey fought hard for their 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 485 

money ; they gave body and soul for it ; and 
wherever it lies buried, depend upon it he must 
have a tug with the devil who gets it ! " 

This sudden explosion was succeeded by a 
blank silence throughout the room. Peechy 
Prauw shrunk within himself, and even the one- 
eyed officer turned pale. Wolfert, who from a 
dark corner of the room had listened with intense 
eagerness to all this talk about buried treasure, 
looked with mingled awe and reverence at this 
bold buccaneer ; for such he really suspected him 
to be. There was a chinking of gold and a 
sparkling of jewels in all his stories about the 
Spanish Main that gave a value to every period; 
and Wolfert would have given anything for the 
rummaging of the ponderous sea-chest, which his 
imagination crammed full of golden chalices, cru- 
cifixes, and jolly round bags of doubloons. 

The dead stillness that had fallen upon the 
company was at length interrupted by the stran- 
ger, who pulled out a prodigious watch of curious 
and ancient workmanship, and which in Wolfert's 
eyes had^ a decidedly Spanish look. On touch- 
ing a spring it struck ten o'clock ; upon which 
the sailor called for his reckoning, and having 
paid it out of a handful of outlandish coin, he 
drank off the remainder of his beverage, and 
without taking leave of any one, rolled out of 
the room, muttering to himself, as he stamped up- 
stairs to his chamber. 

It was some time before the company could 
recover from the silence into which they had 
been thrown. The very footsteps of the stranger, 



486 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

wMcli wei'c heard now and then as he traversed 
his chamber, inspii-ed awe. 

Still the conversation in which they had been 
eno-acred was too interestino; not to be resumed. 
A heavy thunder-gust had gathered up unnoticed 
while they were lost in talk, and the torrents of 
rain that fell forbade all thouo;hts of settino; off 
for home until the storm should subside. They 
drew nearer together, therefore, and entreated the 
worthy Peechy Prauw to continue the tale which 
had .been so discourteously interrupted. He read 
ily complied, whispering, however, in a tone scarce- 
ly above his breath, and drowned occasionally by 
the rolling of the thunder ; and he would pause 
every now and then, and listen with evident awe, 
as he heard the heavy footsteps of the stranger 
pacing overhead. 

The following is the purport of his story 





ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 




IVERTBODY knows Black Sam, the old 
negro fisherman, or, as he is commonly 
called, Mud Sam, who has fished aboiit 
the Sound for the last half century. It is now 
many years since Sam, who was then as active a 
young negro as any in the province, and worked 
on the farm of Killian Suydam on Long Island, 
having finished his day's work at an early hour, 
was fishing, one still summer evenmg, just about 
the neighborhood of Hell -gate. 

He was m a light skiff; and being well ac 
quainted with the currents and eddies, had 
shifted his station according to the shifting of the 
tide, from the Hen and Chickens to the Hog' 
Back, from the Hog's Back to the Pot, and from 
the Pot to the Frying-Pan ; but in the eagerness 
of his sport he did not see that the tide was rap- 
idly ebbing, luitil the roaring of the whirlpools 
and eddies warned him of his danger ; and he had 
some difficulty in shooting his skiff from among 
the rocks and breakers, and getting to the point 
of Black well's Island. Here he cast anchor for 
some lime, waiting the turn of the tide to enable 
him to return homewards. As the night set in, 
it grew blustering and gusty. Dark clouds came 



488 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

bundling up in the west ; and now and then a 
growl of thunder or a flash of lightning told that 
a summer storm was at hand. Sam pulled over, 
therefore, under the lee of Manhattan Island, and 
coasting along, came to a snug nook, just under 
a steep beetling rock, where he fastened his 
skiff to the root of a tree that shot out from a 
cleft, and spread its broad branches like a canopy 
over the water. The ffust came scourinsj along ; 
the wind threw up the river in white surges ; the 
rain rattled among the leaves ; the thunder bel- 
lowed worse than that which is now bellowing ; 
the lightning seemed to lick up the surge? of the 
stream ; but Sam, snugly sheltered under rock 
and tree, lay crouching in his skiff, rocking upon 
the billows until he fell asleep. When he woke 
all was quiet. The gust had passed away, and 
only now and then a faint gleam of lightning in 
the east showed which wav it had 2:one. The 
night was dark and moonless ; and from the ?tate 
of the tide Sam concluded it was near midnight. 
He was on the point of making loose his skiff to 
return homewards, when he saw a light gleaming 
along the water from a distance, which seemed 
rapidly approaching. As it drew near he per- 
ceived it came from a lantern in the bow of a 
boat srlidino; alons; under shadow of the land. 
It pulled up in a small cove, close to where lie 
was. A man jumped on shore, and searching 
about with the lantern, exclaimed, " This is the 
place — here 'S the iron ring." The boat was 
then made fast, and the man returning on board, 
assisted his comrades in conveying something 



THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 483 

heavy on shore. As the light gleamed among 
them, Sam saw that they were five stout desper- 
ate-lookmg fellows, in red woollen caps, with a 
leader in a three-cornered hat, and tliat some 
of them were armed with dirks, or long knives, 
and pistols. They talked low to one another, 
and occasionally in some outlandish tongue which 
he could not understand. 

On landing they made their way among the 
bushes, taking turns to relieve each other in lug- 
ging their burden up the rocky bank. Sam's 
curiosity was now fully aroused ; so leaving his 
skiff he clambered silently up a ridge that over- 
looked their path. They had stopped to rest for a 
moment, and the leader was looking about among 
the bushes with his lantern. " Have you brought 
the spades ? " said one. " They are here," replied 
another, who had them on his shoulder. " We 
must dig deep, where there will be no risk of 
discovery," said a third. 

A cold cliill ran through Sam's veins. He 
fancied he saw before him a gang of murderers, 
about to bury their victim. His knees smote 
together. In his agitation he shook the branch 
of a tree with which he was supporting himself 
as he looked over the edge of the cliff. 

" What 's that ? " cried one of the gang. — 
" Some one stirs among the bushes ! " 

The lantern was held up in the direction of 
the noise. One of the red-caps cocked a pistol, 
and pointed it towards the very place where Sam 
was standing. He stood motionless — breath- 
less; expecting the next moment to be his last 



490 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Fortunately his dingy complexion was in his 
favor, and made no glare among the leaves. 

" 'T is no one/' said the man ^vith the lantern. 
" What a plague ! you would not fire off your 
pistol and alarm the country ! " 

The pistol was uncocked ; the burden was 
resumed, and the party slowly toiled along the 
bank. Sam watched them as they went ; the 
light sending back fi.tful gleams through the drip- 
ping bushes, and it was not till they were fairly 
out of sight that he ventured to draw breath 
freely. He now thought of getting back to his 
boat, and making his escape out of the reach of 
such dangerous neighbors ; but curiosity was all- 
powerful. He hesitated and lingered and listened. 
By and by he heard the strokes of spades. — 
" They are digging the grave ! " said he to him- 
self; and the cold sweat started upon his fore- 
head. Ever}^ stroke of a spade, as it sounded 
through the silent groves, went to his heart ; it 
was evident there was as little noise made as 
possible ; everything had an air of terrible mys- 
tery and secrecy. Sam had a great relish for the 
horrible, — a tale of murder was a treat for 
him ; and he was a constant attendant at execu- 
tions. He could not resist an impulse, in spite 
of every danger, to steal nearer to the scene of 
mystery, and overlook the midnight fellows at 
their work. He crawled along cautiously, there- 
fore, inch by inch .; stepping with the utmost care 
among the dry leaves, lest their rustling should 
betray him. He came at length to where a steep 
rock intervened between him and the gang ; for 



THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 491 

he saw the light of their lantern shining up 
against the branches of the trees on the other 
side. Sam slowly and silently clambered up the 
surftice of the rock, and raising his head above 
its naked edge, beheld the villains immediately 
below him, and so near, that though he dreaded 
discovery, he dared not withdraw lest tlie least 
movement should be heard. In this way he re- 
mained, with his round black face peering above 
the edge of the rock, like the sun just emerging 
above the edge of the horizon, or the round- 
cheeked moon on the dial of a clock. 

The red-caps had nearly finished their work ; 
the grave was filled up, and they were carefully 
replacing the turf This done, they scattered dry 
leaves over the place. " And now," said the 
leader, " I defy the devil himself to find it out." 

" The murderers ! " exclaimed Sam, involun- 
tarily. 

The whole gang started, and looking up, beheld 
the round black head of Sam just above them. 
His white eyes strained half out of their orbits; 
his white teeth chattering, and his whole visage 
shining with cold perspiration. 

" We 're discovered I " cried one. 

" Down with him ! " cried another. 

Sam heard the cocking of a pistol, but did not 
pause for the report. He scrambled over rock 
und stone, through brush and brier ; rolled down 
banks like a hedge - hog ; scrambled up others 
'ike a catamount. In every direction he heard 
some one or other of the gang hemming him in. 
At length he i-eached the rocky ridge along the 



492 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

river ; one of the red-caps was hard behind him. 
A steep rock like a wall rose directly in his way ; 
it seemed to cut off all retreat, when fortunately 
he espied the strong cord-like branch of a grape- 
vine reaching half-way down it. He sprang at 
it with the force of a desperate man, seized it 
with both hands, and being young and agile, suc- 
ceeded in swinging himself to the summit of the 
cliff. Here he stood in full relief against the 
sky, when the red-cap cocked his pistol and fired. 
The ball whistled by Sam's head. With the 
lacky thought of a man in an emergency, he 
uttered a yell, fell to the ground, and detached 
at the same time a fragment of the rock, which 
tumbled with a loud splash into the river. 

" I 've done his business," said the red-cap to 
one or two of his comrades as they arrived pant- 
ing. " He '11 tell no tales, except to the fishes in 
the river." 

His pursuers now turned to meet their com- 
panions. Sam, sliding silently down the surface 
of the rock, let himself quietly into his skiff, cast 
loose the fastening, and abandoned himself to the 
rapid current, which in that place runs like a 
mill-stream, and soon swept him off from the 
neio-hborhood. It was not, however, until he had 
drifted a great distance that he ventured to ply 
his oars, when he made his skiff dart like an ar- 
row through the strait of Hell-gate, never heeding 
the danger of Pot, Frying-Pan, nor Hog's Back 
itself: nor did he feel himself thoroughly secure 
until safely nestled in bed in the cockloft of the 
ancient farm-house of the Suydams. 



THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 493 

Here the worthy Peechy Prauw paused t<i 
take breath, and to take a sip of the gossip tank-, 
ard that stood at his elbow. His auditors re- 
tnahied with open mouths and outstretched necks, 
gaping like a nest of swallows for an additional 
mouthful. 

" And is that all ? " exclaimed the half - pay 
officer. 

" That 's all that belongs to the story," said 
Peechy Prauw. 

" And did Sara never find out what was buried 
by the red-caps ? " said Wolfert, eagerly, whose 
mind was haunted by nothing but mgots and 
doubloons. 

" Not that I know of," said Peechy ; " he had 
no time to spare from his work, and, to tell the 
truth, he did not like to run the risk of another 
race among the rocks. Besides, how should he 
recollect the spot where the grave had been 
digged ? everything would look so different by 
daylight. And then, where was the use of look- 
ing for a dead body, when there was no chance of 
hano'ino; the murderers ? " 

" Aye, but are you sure it was a dead body 
they buried ? " said TVolfert. 

" To be sure," cried Peechy Prauw, exultingly. 
" Does it not haunt in the neighborhood to this 
very day ? " 

" Haunts ! " exclaimed several of the party, 
opening their eyes still wider, and edging their 
chaii's still closer. 

" Aye, haunts," repeated Peechy ; " have none 
of you heard of father Ked-cap, who haunts the 



494 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

old burnt farm-house in the woods, on the bordej 
of the Sound, near Hell-gate ? " 

" Oh, to be sure, I 've heard tell of something 
of the kind, but then I took it for some old 
wives' fable." 

" Old wives' fable or not," said Peechy Prauw, 
" that farm-house stands hard by the very spot 
It 's been unoccupied time out of mind, and stands 
in a lonely part of the coast ; but those who fisb 
in the neighborhood have often heard strange 
noises there ; and lights have been seen about 
the wood at night ; and an old fellow in a red 
cap has been seen at the windows more than once, 
which people take to be the ghost of the body 
buried there. Once upon a time three soldier? 
took shelter in the building for the night, and 
rummaged it from top to bottom, when they 
found old father Red-cap astride of a cider-barrel 
in the cellar, with a jug in one hand and a goblet 
in the other. He offered them a drink out of his 
goblet, but just as one of the soldiers was putting 
it to his mouth — whew ! — a flash of fire blazed 
through the cellar, blinded every mother's son of 
them for several minutes, and when they re- 
covered their eye-sight, jug, goblet, and Ped-cap 
had vanished, and nothing but the empty cider- 
barrel remained." 

Here the half-pay officer, who was growing 
very muzzy and sleepy, and nodding over his 
liquor, with half- extinguished eye, suddenly 
gleamed up like an expiring rushlight. 

" That 's all fudge ! " said he, as Peechy fin- 
lihed his last story. 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 495 

" Well, I don't vouch for the truth of it my- 
gelf," said Peechy Prauw, '' though all the world 
knows that there 's somethino; strano;e about that 
house and grounds ; but as to the story of Mud 
Sam, I believe it just as well as if it had hap 
pened to myself" 

The deep interest taken in this conversation 
by the company had made them unconscious of 
the uproar abroad among the elements, when sud- 
denly they were electrified by a tremendous clap 
of thunder. A lumbering crash followed instan- 
taneously, shaking the building to its very founda- 
tion. All started from their seats, imagining it the 
shock of an earthquake, or that old father Ped-cap 
was coming among them in all his terrors. They 
listened for a moment, but only heard the rain 
pelting against the windows, and the wind howl- 
ing among the trees. The explosion was soon 
explained by the apparition of an old negro's bald 
head thrust in at the door, his white goggle eyes 
contrasting with his jetty poll, which was wet 
with rain, and shone like a bottle. In a jargon 
but half intelligible, he announced that the 
kitchen-chimney had been struck with lightning. 

A sullen pause of the storm, which now rose 
and sunk in gusts, produced a momentary still- 
ness. In this interval the report of a musket 
was heard, and a long shout, ahnost like a yell, 
resounded from the shores. Every one crowded 
to the window ; another musket-shot was heard, 
and another long shout, mingled wildly with a 
•ising blast of wind. It seemed as if the cry 



496 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

came up from the bosom of the waters ; for 
though incessant flashes of lightnuig spread ti 
light about the shore, no one was to be seen. 

Suddenly the window of the room overhead 
was opened, and a loud halloo uttered by the 
mysterious stranger. Several bailings passed 
fi'om one party to the other, but in a language 
which none of the company in the bar-room 
could understand ; and presently they heard the 
window closed, and a great noise overhead, as if 
all the furniture were pulled and hauled about 
the room. The negro servant was summoned, 
and shortly afterwards was seen assisting the 
veteran to lug the ponderous sea-chest down- 
stairs. 

The landlord was in amazement. " What, 
you are not going on the water in such a 
storm ? " 

" Storm ! " said the other, scornfully, " do you 
call such a sputter of weather a storm ? " 

" You '11 get drenched to the skin, — you '11 
catch your death ! " said Peechy Prauw, affec- 
tionately. 

" Thunder and liojhtninof ! " exclaimed the 
veteran, " don't preach about weather to a man 
that has cruised in whirlwinds and tornadoes." 

The obsequious Peechy was again struck dumb. 
The voice from the water was heard once more 
in a tone of impatience ; tlie by-standers stared 
with redoubled awe at this man of storms, who 
seemed to have come up out of the deep, and to 
be summoned back to it again. As, with the 
assistance of the negro, he slowly bore his ponder 



WOLFE KT WEBB EH. 497 

ous sea-chest towards the shore, they eyed it with 
a superstitious feeling, — half doubting whether 
he were not really about to embark upon it and 
launch forth upon tlie wild waves. They fol- 
lowed him at a distance with a lantern. 

" Dowse the light ! " roared the hoarse voice 
from the water. " No one wants light here ! " 

" Thunder and lightning ! " exclaimed the vet- 
eran, turning short upon them ; " back to the 
house with you ! " 

Wolfert and his companions shrunk back in 
dismay. Still their curiosity would not allow 
them entirely to withdraw. A long sheet of 
lightning now flickered across tlie waves, and 
discovered a boat, filled with men, just under a 
rocky point, rising and sinking with the heaving 
surges, and swashing the waters at every heave. 
It was with difficulty held to the rocks by a boat- 
hook, for the current rushed furiously round the 
point. The veteran hoisted one end of the lum- 
bering sea-chest on the gunwale of the boat, and 
seized the handle at the other end to lift it in, 
when the motion propelled the boat from the 
shore ; the chest slipped off from the gunwale, 
and, sinking into the waves, pulled the veteran 
headlong after it. A loud shriek was uttered bj 
all on shore, and a volley of execrations by those 
on board ; but boat and man were hurried away 
by the rushing swiftness of the tide. A pitchy 
darkness succeeded ; Yv^olfert Webber indeed 
landed that he distinguished a cry for help, and 
that he beheld the drowning man beckoning for 
agsistance; but when the lightning again gleamed 
32 



498 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

along tlie water, all was void; neither man 
nor boat was to be seen ; nothing but the dash- 
ing and weltering of the waves as they hurried 
past. 

The company returned to the tavern to await 
the subsiding of the storm. They resumed their 
seats, and gazed on each other with dismay. 
The whole transaction had not occupied five 
minutes, and not a dozen words had been spoken. 
When they looked at the oaken chair, they could 
scarcely realize the fact that the strange being 
who had so lately tenanted it, full of life and 
Herculean vigor, should already be a corpse. ^ 
There was the very glass he had just drunk from ; 
there lay the ashes from the pipe which he had 
smoked, as it were, with his last breath. As the 
worthy burghers pondered on these things, they 
felt a terrible conviction of the uncertainty of 
existence, and each felt as if the ground on which 
he stood was rendered less stable by his awful 
example. 

As, however, the most of the company were 
possessed of that valuable philosophy which ena- 
bles a man to bear up with fortitude against the 
misfortunes of his neighbors, they soon managed 
to console themselves for the tragic end of th( 
veteran. The landlord was particularly happy 
that the poor dear man had paid his reckoning 
before he went ; and made a kind of fare well 
speech on the occasion. 

" He came," said he, " in a storm, and he went 
in a storm ; he came in the night, and he went 
in the night ; he came nobody knows whence, and 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 499 

iife, txtii ^one nobody knows where. For aught I 
know he has gone to sea once more on his chest, 
and may land to bother some people on the other 
side of the world ! Though it 's a thousand pities," 
added he, " if he has gone to Davy Jones's locker, 
that he had not left his own locker behind him." 

" His locker ! St. Nicholas preserve us ! " cried 
Peechy Prauw. " I 'd not have had that sea- 
chest in the house for any money ; I '11 warrant 
he 'd come racketing after it at nights, and mak- 
ing a haunted house of the inn. And, as to his 
going to sea in his chest, I recollect what hap- 
pened to Skipper Onderdonk's ship on his voyage 
from Amsterdam. 

" The boatswain died during a storm : so they 
wrapped him up in a sheet, and put him in his 
own sea-chest, and threw him overboard ; but 
they neglected in their hurry-skurry to say pray- 
ers over him — and the storm racked and roared 
louder than ever, and they saw the dead man 
seated in his chest, with his shroud for a sail, com- 
ing hard after the ship ; and the sea breaking be- 
fore him in great sprays like fire ; and there they 
kept scudding day after day, and night after night, 
expecting every moment to go to wreck ; and 
every night they saw the dead boatswain in his 
;ea-cliest trying to get up with them, and they 
leard his whistle above the blasts of wiiid, and he 
^5eemed to send great seas mountain-high after 
Uiera, that would have swamped the ship if they 
had not put up the dead-lights. And so it went 
on till they lost sight of him in the fogs off New- 
foundland, and supposed he had veered ship and 



500 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Stood for Dead Man's Isle. So much for bury- 
ing a man at sea without saying prayers over 
him." 

The thunder-gust which had hitherto detained 
the company was now at an end. The cuckoo 
clock in the hall told midnight ; every one pressed 
to depart, for seldom was such a late hour of the 
night trespassed on by these quiet burghers. As 
they sallied forth, they found the heavens once 
more serene. The storm Avhich had lately ob- 
scured them had rolled away, and lay piled up in 
fleecy masses on the horizon, lighted up by the 
bright crescent of the moon, which looked like a 
little silver lamp hung up in a palace of clouds. 

The dismal occurrence of the night, and the 
dismal narrations they had made, had left a super- 
stitious feeling in every mind. They cast a fear- 
ful glance at the spot where the buccaneer had 
disappeared, almost expecting to see him sailing on 
his chest in the cool moonshine. The trembling 
rays glittered along the waters, but all was placid ; 
and the current dimpled over the spot where he 
had gone down. The party huddled together in 
a little crowd as they repaired homewards ; par- 
ticularly when they passed a lonely field where a 
man had been murdered ; and even the sexton, 
who had to complete his journey alone, though 
accustomed, one would think, to ghosts and gob- 
lins, went a long way round, rather than pass by 
his own church-yard. 

Wolfert Webber had now carried home a fresh 
stock of stories and notions to ruminate upon. 
These accounts of pots of money and Spanish 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 501 

treasures, buried here and there and everywhere, 
about the rocks and bays of these wild shores, 
made him ahuost dizzy. " Blessed St. Nicholas ! " 
ejaculated he, half aloud, " is it not possible to 
come upon one of these golden hoards, and to 
make one's self rich in a twinkling ? How hard 
that I must go on, delving and delving, day in 
and day out, merely to make a morsel of bread, 
when one lucky stroke of a spade might enable 
me to ride in my carriage for the rest of my 
life ! " 

As he turned over in his thoughts all that had 
been told of the singular adventure of the negro 
fisherman, his imagination gave a totally different 
complexion to the tale. He saw in the gang of 
red-caps nothing but a crew of pirates burying 
their spoils, and his cupidity was once more 
awakened by the possibility of at length getting 
on the traces of some of this lurking wealth. In- 
deed, his infected fancy tinged everything with 
gold. He felt like the greedy inhabitant of Bag- 
dad, when his eyes had been greased with the 
magic ointment of the dervise, that gave him to 
see all the treasures of the earth. Caskets of 
buried jewels, chests of ingots, and barrels of 
outlandish coins, seemed to court him fi'om their 
concealments, and supplicate him to relieve them 
from their imtimely graves. 

On making private inquiries about the grounds 
said to be haunted by Father Red-cap, he was 
more and more confirmed in his surmise. He 
learned that the place had several times been 
vidited by experienced money - diggers, who had 



502 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

heard black Sam's story, though none of them had 
met with success. On the contrary, they had 
always been dogged with ill-luck of some kind or 
other, in consequence, as Wolfert concluded, of 
not going to work at the proper time, and with 
the proper ceremonials. The last attempt had 
been made by Cobus Quackenbos, who dug for 
a whole night, and met with incredible difficulty, 
for as fast as he threw one shovelful of earth 
out of the hole, two were thrown in by invisible 
hands. He succeeded so far, however, as to un- 
cover an iron chest, when there was a terrible 
roaring, ramping, and raging of uncouth figures 
about the hole, and at length a shower of blows, 
dealt by invisible cudgels, fairly belabored him 
off of the forbidden ground. This Cobus Quack- 
enbos had declared on his death-bed, so that there 
could not be any doubt of it. He was a man 
that had devoted many years of his life to money- 
digging, and it was thought would have ultimately 
succeeded, had he not died recently of a brain- 
fever in the almshouse. 

Wolfert Webber was now in a worry of trep- 
idation and impatience ; fearful lest some rival 
adventurer should get a scent of the buried gold. 
He determined privately to seek out the black 
fisherman, and get him to serve as guide to the 
place wliere he had witnessed the mysterious scene 
of interment. Sam was easily found ; for he was 
one of those old habitual beings that live about. a 
neighborhood until they wear themselves a place 
m the public mind, and become, in a manner, 
public characters. There was not an unlucky 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 503 

urchin about town that did not know Sam the 
fisherman, and think that he iiad a right to play 
his tricks upon the old negro. Sam had led an 
amphibious life for more than half a century, 
about the shores of the bay, and the fishing- 
grounds of the Sound. He passed the greater 
part of his time on and in the water, particularly 
about Hell-gate ; and might have been taken, in 
bad weather, for one of the hobgoblins that used 
to haunt that strait. There would he be seen, 
at all times, and in all weathers ; sometimes in 
his skiff, anchored among the eddies, or prowling 
like a shark about some wreck, where the fish 
are supposed to be most abundant. Sometimes 
seated on a rock from hour to hour, looking in 
the mist and drizzle, like a solitary heron watch- 
ing for its prey. He was well acquainted with 
every hole and corner of the Sound ; from the 
Wallabout to Hell-gate, and from Hell-gate unto 
the Devil's Stepping - Sj:ones ; and it was even 
affirmed that he knew all the fish in the river 
by their Christian names. 

Wolfert found him at his cabin, which was not 
much larger than a tolerable dog-house. It was 
rudely constructed of fragments of wrecks and 
drift-Avood, and built on the rocky shore, at the 
foot of the old fort, just about what at present 
forms the point of the Battery. A " most ancient 
and fishlike smell " pervaducl the place. Oars, 
paddles, and fishing-rods were leaning against the 
\vall of the fort ; a net was spread on the sand to 
dry ; a skiff was drawn up on the beach ; and at 
the door of his cabin was Mud Sam himself, in- 



504 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

dulging in the true negro luxury of sleeping in 
the sunshine. 

Many years had passed away since the time 
of Sam's youthful adventure, and the snows of 
many a winter had grizzled the knotty wool upon 
his head. He perfectly recollected the circum- 
stances, however, for he had often been called 
upon to relate them, though in his version of the 
story he differed in many points from Peechy 
Prauw ; as is not unfrequently the case with 
authentic historians. As to the subsequent re- 
searches of money - diggers, Sam knew nothing 
about them ; they were^matters quite out of his 
Une ; neither did the cautious Wolfert care to 
disturb his thoughts on that point. His only 
wish was to secure the old fisherman as a pilot 
to the spot ; and this was readily effected. The 
long time that had intervened since his nocturnal 
adventure had effaced all Sam's awe of the place, 
and the promise of a trifling reward roused him 
at once fi'om his sleep and his sunshine. 

The tide was adverse to making the expedition 
by water, and Wolfert was too impatient to get 
to the land of promise, to wait for its turning ; 
they set off, therefore, by land. A walk of four 
or five miles broufjht them to the edo;e of a wood, 
which at that time covered the greater part of 
the eastern side of the island. It was just be- 
yond the pleasant region of Bloomen-dael. Here 
they struck into a long lane, straggling among 
trees and bushes, very much overgrown with 
weeds and mullein-stalks, as if but seldom used, 
and so completely overshadowed as to enjoy but a 



WOLFEUT WEBBER. 505 

kind of twilight. Wild vines entangled the trees 
and flaunted in their faces ; brambles and briers 
caught their clothes as they passed ; the garter- 
snake glided across their path ; the spotted toad 
hopped and waddled before them, and the rest- 
less cat-bird mewed at them from every thicket 
Had Wolfert Webber been deeply read in romantic 
legend, he might have fancied himself entering 
upon forbidden, enchanted ground ; or that these 
were some of the guardians set to keep watch 
upon buried treasure. As it was, the loneliness 
of the place, and the wild stories connected with 
it, had their effect upon his mind. 

On reaching the lower end of the lane, they 
found themselves near the shore of the Sound in 
a kind of amphitheatre, surrounded by forest- 
trees. The area had once been a grass-plot, but 
was now shagged with briers and rank weeds. 
At one end, and just on the river bank, was a 
ruined building, little better than a heap of rub- 
bish, with a stack of chimneys rising like a soli- 
tary tower out of the centre. The current of 
the Sound rushed along just below it ; with 
wildly grow^n trees drooping their branches into 
its waves. 

Wolfert had not a doubt that this was the 
haunted house of Father Red-cap, and called to 
mind the story of Peechy Prauw. The evening 
was approaching, and the light falling dubiously 
among the woody places, gave a melancholy tone 
to the scene, well calculated to foster any lurking 
feeling of awe or superstition. The night-hawk, 
wheeling about in the highest regions of the air, 



506 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

emitted his peevish, boding cry. The wood- 
pecker gave a lonely tap now and then on some 
hollow tree, and the fire-bird * streamed by them 
with his deep-red plumage. 

They now came to an enclosure that had once 
been a garden. It extended along the foot of a 
rocky ridge, but was little better than a wilder- 
ness of weeds, with here and there a matted rose- 
bush, or a peach or plum tree grown wild and 
ragged, and covered with moss. At the lower 
end of the garden they passed a kind of vault in 
the side of a bank, facing the water. It had the 
look of a root-house. The door, though decayed, 
was still strong, and appeared to have been re- 
cently patched up. Wolfert pushed it open. It 
gave a harsh grating upon its hinges, and striking 
against somethino; like a box, a rattlinoj sound 
ensued, and a skull rolled on the floor. Wolfert 
drew back shuddering, but was reassured on 
being informed by the negro that this was a 
family vault, belonging to one of the old Dutch 
families that owned this estate ; an assertion cor- 
roborated by the sight of coffins of various sizes 
piled within. Sam had been familiar with ail 
these scenes when a boy, and now knew that Le 
could not be far from the place of which they 
were in quest. 

They now made their way to the water's 
edge, scrambling along ledges of rocks that over- 
hung the waves, and obliged often to hold by 
Bhrubs and grape-vines to avoid slipping into the 
ieep and hurried stream. At length they came 
* Orchard Oriole. 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 507 

to a small cove, or rather indent of the shore. 
It was protected by steep rocks, and overshad- 
owed by a thick copse of oaks and chestnuts, sc 
as to be sheltered and almost concealed. The 
beach shelved gradually within the cove, but the 
current swept deep, and black, and rapid, along 
its jutting points. The negro paused ; raised his 
remnant of a hat, and scratched his grizzled poll 
for a moment, as he regarded this nook ; then 
suddenly clapping his hands, he stepped exultingly 
forward, and pointed to a large iron ring, stapled 
firmly in the rock, just where a broad shelf of 
stone furnished a commodious landing-place. It 
was the very spot where the red-caps had landed 
Years had changed the more perishable features 
of the scene ; but rock and iron yield slowly to 
the influence of time. On looking more closely, 
Wolfert remarked three crosses cut in the rock 
just above the ring, which had no doubt some 
mysterious signification. Old Sam now readily 
vecomized the overhano^ino; rock under which his 
skiff had been sheltered durino^ the thunder-f>;ust. 
To follow up the course which the midnight gang 
had taken, however, was a harder task. His 
mind had been so much taken up on that event- 
ful occasion by the persons of the drama, as to 
pay but little attention to the scenes; and these 
places look so different by night and day. After 
wandering about for some time, however, they 
came to an openings among the trees which Sam 
thought resembled the place. There was a ledge 
of rock of moderate height like a wall on one 
side, which he thouojht might be the verj? ridge 



508 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

whence lie had overlooked the dlfjsrers. Woi- 
fert examined it narrowly, and at length dis- 
covered three crosses similar to those on the 
above ring, cut deeply into the face of the rock, 
but nearly obliterated by moss that had grown 
over them. His heart leaped with joy, for he 
doubted not they were the private marks of the 
ouccaneers. All now that remained was to 
ascertain the precise spot where the treasure lay 
buried ; for otherwise he mi^-ht di^ at random in 
the neighborhood of the crosses, without coming 
upon the spoils, and he had already had enough 
of such profitless labor. Here, however, the old 
negro was perfectly at a loss, and indeed per- 
plexed him by a variety of opinions; for his 
recollections were all confused. Sometimes he 
declared it must have been at the foot of a mul- 
berry-tree hard by ; then beside a great white 
stone ; then under a small green knoll, a short 
distance from the ledge of rocks ; until at length 
Wolfert became as bewildered as himself. 

The shadows of evening were now spreading 
themselves over the woods, and rock and tree 
began to mingle together. It was evidently too 
late to attempt any thing farther at present ; and, 
indeed, Wolfert had come unprovided with imple- 
ments to prosecute his researches. Satisfied, 
therefore, with having ascertained the place, he 
took note of all its landmarks, that he might 
reco2;nize it a2:ain, and set out on his return 
homewards, resolved to prosecute this golden en- 
terprise without delay. 

The leading anxiety whjch had hitherto ab- 



WOLt ERT WEBBER. 509 

sorbed every feeling, being now in some measure 
•cippeased, fancy began to wander, and to conjure 
up a thousand shapes and chimeras as he returned 
through this haunted region. Pirates hanging in 
chains seemed to swing from every tree, and he 
ahiiost expected to see some Spanish Don, with 
his throat cut from ear to ear, rising slowly out 
of the ground, and shaking the ghost of a money- 
bag. 

Their way back lay through the desolate gar- 
den, and Wolfert's nerves had arrived at so sensi- 
tive a state that the flitting of a bird, the rustling 
of a leaf, or the falling of a nut, was enough to 
startle him. As they entered the confines of the 
garden, they caught sight of a figure at a distance 
advancing slowly up one of the walks, and bend- 
ing under the weight of a burden. They paused 
and regarded him attentively. He wore what 
appeared to be a woollen cap, and, still more 
alarming, of a most sanguinary red. 

The figure moved slowly on, ascended the 
bank, and stopped at the very door of the sepul- 
chral vault. Just before entering it he looked 
around. What vvas the affright of Wolfert when 
he recognized tJie grisly visage of the drowned 
buccaneer ! He uttered an ejaculation of horror. 
Tiie figure slowly raised his iron fist, and shook 
it with a terrible menace. Wolfert did not pause 
to see any more, but hurried off as fast as his 
legs could carry him, nor was Sam slow in ibl- 
lo^^■ino' at his heels, havino- all his ancient terrors 
.'cvived. Away, tlien, did they scramble tlu'ough 
bwsb and brake, liorribly friglitened at every 



510 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

bramble that tugged at their skirts, nor did the_y 
pause to breathe, until they had blundered their 
way through this perilous wood, and fairly 
reached the high road to the city. 

Several days elapsed before Wolfert could 
summon coin^age enough to prosecute the enter- 
prise, so much had he been dismayed by the ap 
parition, whether living or dead, of the grisly 
buccaneer. In the mean time, what a conflict of 
mind did he suffer ! He neglected all his con- 
cerns, was moody and restless all day, lost his 
appetite, wandered in his thoughts and words, and 
committed a thousand blunders. His rest was 
broken ; and when he fell asleep, the nightmare, 
in shape of a huge money-bag, sat squatted upon 
his breast. He babbled about incalculable sums ; 
fancied himself engaged in money-digging ; threw 
the bedclothes right and left, in the idea that he 
was shovelling away the dirt ; groped under the 
bed in quest of the treasure, and lugged forth, as 
he supposed, an inestimable pot of gold. 

Dame Webber and her daughter were in de- 
spair at what they conceived a returning touch of 
insanity. There are two fannly oracles, one oi 
other of which Dutch housewives consult in all 
cases of great doubt and perplexity — tlAe domi- 
nie and the doctor. In the present instance they 
repaired to the doctor. There was at that time 
a little dark mouldy man of medicine, famous 
amono- the old wives of, the Manhattoes for his 
skill, not only in the healing art, but in all matters 
of strange and mysterious nature. His name was 
Dr. Knipperhausen, but he was inoiv) commouiy 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 511 

known by the appellation of the High-German 
Doctor.,* To him did the poor women repair for 
counsel and assistance touching the mental vaga- 
ries of Wolfert Webber. 

They found the doctor seated in his little study, 
clad in his dark camlet robe of knowledge, with 
liis black velvet cap ; after the manner of Boor- 
luvave. Van Helmont, and other medical sages ; a 
pair of green spectacles set in black horn upon 
his clubbed nose, and poring over a German folio 
that reflected ba6k the darkness of his physiog- 
nomy. The doctor listened to their statement of 
the symptoms of Wolfert's malady with profound 
attention ; but Avhen they came to mention his 
raving about buried money, the little man pricked 
up his ears. Alas, poor women ! they little knew 
the aid they had called in. 

Dr. Knipperhausen had been half his life en- 
o-aged in seekino; the short cuts to fortune, in 
quest of which so many a long lifetime is wasted. 
He had passed some years of his youth among 
the Harz mountains of Germany, and had derived 
much valuable instruction from the miners, touch- 
ino; the mode of -seekino; treasure buried in the< 
earth. He had prosecuted his studies also under 
a travelling sage who united the mysteries of 
medicine with magic and legerdemain. His mind 
tlierefore had become stored with all kinds of 
mystic lore ; he had dabbled a little in astrology, 
alchemy, divination ; knew how to detect stolen 
money, and to tell where springs of water lay 

* Tlie same, no doubt, of Avhom mention is made in the 
jistory of Dolpb Heyliger. 



512 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

hidden ; in a word, by the dark nature of hia 
knowledge he had acquired the name of the High- 
German Doctor, which is pretty nearly equiva- 
lent to that of necromancer. The doctor had 
often heard rumors of treasure beino; buried in 
various parts of the island, and had long been 
anxious to get on the traces of it. No sooner 
were Wolfert's wahang and sleeping vagaries con- 
fided to Jiira, than he beheld in them the con- 
firmed symptoms of a case of money-digging, and 
lost no time in probing it to the bottom. Wol- 
fert had long been sorely oppressed in mind by 
the golden secret, and as a family physician is a 
kind of father confessor, he was glad of any op- 
portunity of unburdening himself. So far from 
curing, the doctor caught the malady from his 
patient. The circumstances unfolded to him 
awakened all his cupidity ; he had not a doubt 
of money beino; buried somewhere in the neisjh- 
borhood of the mysterious crosses, and offered to 
join Wplfert in the search. He informed him 
tliat much secrecy and caution must be observed 
in enterprises of the kind ; that money is only to 
be digged for at night ; with .certain forms and 
ceremonies ; and burning of drug.^ ; the repeat- 
ing of mystic words, and above all, that the 
seekers must first be provided with a divining 
foJ, which had the wonderful property of pointing 
lo the very spot on the sui'fhce of the earth mider 
whicli treasure lay hidden. As the doctor had 
given much of his mind to these matters, he 
cliarged himself with all the necessary prepara- 
tions, and, as the quarter of the moon was pro- 



WOLFURT -WEBBER. 513 

pitious, he undertook to have the divining rod 
ready by a certain night.* 

* The following note was found appended to this passage 
in the handwriting of Mr. Knickerbocker. " There has been 
much wi-itten against the divining rod by those light minds 
who a^e ever ready to scoff at the mysteries of nature ; but ] 
fully join with Dr. Knipperhausen in giving it my faith. I 
shall not insist upon its efficacy in discovering the conceal- 
ment of stolen goods, the boundary stones of fields, the traces 
of robbers and murderers, or even the existence of subterrane- 
ous springs and streams of water : albeit, I think these prop- 
erties not to be readily discredited ; but of its potency in dis- 
covering veins of precious metal, and hidden sums of money 
and jewels, I have not the least doubt. Some said that the 
rod turned only in the hands of persons who had been born 
in pai'ticular months of the year ; hence astrologers had re- 
course to planetary influence when they would procure a 
talisman. Others declared that the properties of the rod were 
either an effect of chance, or the fraud of the holder, or the 
work of the devil. Thus saith the reverend father Gaspard 
Sebett in his Treatise on Magic : ' Propter hsec et similia 
argumenta audacter ego promisero vim conversivam virgulse 
bifurcatas nequaquam naturalem esse, sed vel casu vel fraude 
virgulam tractantis vel ope diaboli,' &c. 

" Georgius Agricola also was of opinion that it was a mere 
delusion of the devil to inveigle the avaricious and unwary 
into his clutches, and in his treatise ' de re Metallica,' lays 
particular stress on the mysterious words pronounced by 
those persons who employed the divining rod during his time. 
But I make not a doubt that the divining rod is one of those 
secrets of natural magic, the mysteiy of which is to be ex- 
plained by the sympathies existing between physical things 
operated upon by the planets, and rendered efficacious by the 
strong faith of the individual. Let the divining rod be prop- 
f-rly gathered at the proper time of the moon, cut into the 
proper form, used with the necessary ceremonies, and with a 
perfect faith in its efficacy, and I can confidently recommend 
it to my fellow-citizens as an infallible means of discovering 
33 



514 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Wolfert's heart leaped with joy at having met 
with so learned and able a coadjutor. Everything 
went on secretly, but swimmingly. The doctor 
had many consultations with his patient, and the 
good woman of the household lauded the com- 
forting effect of his visits. In the mean tim^ the 
wonderful divining rod, that great key to nature's 
secrets, was duly prepared. The doctor had 
thumbed over all his books of knowledge for the 
occasion; and the black fisherman was engaged 
to take them in his skiff to the scene of enter- 
prise ; to work with spade and pickaxe in un- 
earthing the treasure ; and to freight his bark 
with the weighty spoils they were certain of 
finding. 

At length the appointed night arrived for this 
perilous undertaking. Before Wolfert left his 
home he counselled his wife and daughter to go 
to bed, and feel no alarm if he should not return 
during the night. Like reasonable women, on 
being told not to feel alarm they fell immediately 
into a panic. Tiiey saw at once by his manner 
that somethino; unusual was in a«;itation ; all their 
fears about the unsettled state of his mind were 
revived with tenfold force : they hung about him, 
entreating him not to expose himself to the night 
air, but all in vain. When once Wolfert was 
mounted on his hobby, it was no easy matter to 
get him out of the saddle. It was a clear star- 
light night, when he issued out of the portal of 
the Webber palace. He wore a large flapped 

the places on the Island of the Manhattoes where treasure 
iuth beer buried in the olden time. D. K." 



WOLF EH T WEBBER. 515 

hat tied under the chin with a handkerchief of 
his daughter's, to secure him from the night 
damp, while Dame Webber threw her long red 
cloak about his shoulders, and fastened it round 
his neck. 

The doctor had been no less carefully armed 
and accoutred by his housekeeper, the vigilant 
Frau Ilsy ; and sallied forth in his camlet robe 
by way of surcoat ; his black velvet cap under 
his cocked hat, a thick clasped book under his 
arm, a basket of drugs and dried herbs in one 
hand, and in the other the miraculous rod of div- 
ination. 

The great church-clock struck ten as Wolfert 
and the doctor passed by the church-yard, and 
the watchman bawled in hoarse voice a long and 
doleful " All 's well ! " A deep sleep had already 
fallen upon this primitive little burgh : nothing 
disturbed this awful silence, excepting now and 
then the bark of some profligate night-walking 
dog, or the serenade of some romantic cat. It is 
true, Wolfert fancied more than once that he 
heard the sound of a stealthy footfall at a dis- 
tance behind them ; but it might have been 
merely the echo of their own steps along the 
quiet streets. He thought also at one time that 
he saw a tall figure skulking after them — stop- 
ping when they stopped, and moving on as they 
proceeded ; but the dim and uncertain lamp-light 
threw such vague gleams and shadows, that this 
might all have been mere fancy. 

They found the old fisherman waiting for them, 
smoking his pipe in the stern of the skiff, which 



516 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

was moored just in front of his little cabin. A 
pickaxe and spade were lying in the bottom of 
the boat, with a dark lantern, and a stone bottle 
of good Dutch courage, in which honest Sam no 
doubt put even more faith than Dr. Knipperhau- 
sen in his drugs. 

Thus then did these three worthies embark in 
their cockle-shell of a skiff upon this nocturnal 
expedition, with a wisdom and valor equalled 
only by the three wise men of Gotham, who ad- 
ventured to sea^in a bowl. The tide was rising 
and running rapidly up the Sound. The current 
bore them along, almost without the aid of an oar. 
The profile of the town lay all in shadow. Here 
and there a light feebly glimmered from some 
sick-chamber, or from the cabin-window of some 
vessel at anchor in the stream. Not a cloud ob- 
scured the deep starry firmament, the lights of 
which wavered on the surface of the placid river ; 
and a shooting meteor, streaking its pale course 
in the very direction they were taking, was inter- 
preted by the doctor into a most propitious omen. 

In a little while they glided by the point of 
Corlaer's Hook with the rural iim which had 
been the scene of such night adventures. The 
family had retired to rest, and the house was 
dark and still. Wolfert felt a chill pass over him 
as they passed the point where the buccaneer had 
disappeared. He pointed it out to Dr. Knipper- 
bausen. While regarding it, they thought they 
saw a boat actually lurking at the very place ; 
but the shore cast such a shadow over the border 
of the water that they could discern nothing dis- 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 517 

tiDctly. They had not proceeded far when they 
heard the low sounds of distant oars, as if cau- 
tiously pulled. Sam plied his oars with re- 
doubled vigor, and knowing all the eddies and 
currents of the stream, soon left their followers, 
if such they were, far astern. In a little while 
they stretched across Turtle Bay and Kip's Bay, 
then shrouded themselves in the deep shadows of 
the Manhattan shore, and glided swiftly along, 
secure from observation. At length the negro 
shot his skiff into a little cove, darkly embowered 
by trees, and made it fast to the well-known iron 
ring. They now landed, and lighting the lantern, 
gathered their various implements and proceeded 
slowly through the bushes. Every sound star- 
tled them, even that of their own footsteps among 
the dry leaves ; and the hooting of a screech owl, 
from the shattered chimney of the neighboring 
ruin, made their blood run cold. 

In spite of all Wolfert's caution in taking note 
of the landmarks, it was some time before they 
could find the open place among the trees, where 
the treasure was supposed to be buried. At length 
they came to the ledge of rock ; and on examin- 
ing its surface by the aid of the lantern, Wolfert 
recognized the three mystic crosses. Their hearts 
licat quick, for the momentous trial was at hand 
I hat was to determine their hopes. 

Tlie lantern was now held by Wolfert Webber, 
wliile the doctor produced the divining rod. It 
was a forked twig, one end of which was grasped 
fii'mly in each hand, while the centre, forming the 
item, pointed perpendicularly upwards. The doc- 



'^18 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

tor moved this wand about, within a certain dis- 
tance of the earth, from place to place, but for 
BO me time without any effect, while Wolfert kept 
the light of the lantern turned full upon it, and 
watched it with the most breathless interest. At 
length the rod began slowly to turn. The doc- 
tor grasped it with greater earnestness, his hands 
trembling with the agitation of his mind. The 
waild continued to turn gradually, until at length 
the stem had reversed its position, and pointed 
perpendicularly downward, and remained point- 
ing to one spot as fixedly as the needle to the 
pole. 

'* This is the spot ! " said the doctor, in an al~ 
most inaudible tone. 

Wolfert's heart was in his throat. 

" Shall I dig ? " said the negro, grasping the 
spade. 

" Pots tausend, no ! " replied the little doctor, 
hastily. He now ordered his companions to keep 
close by him, and to maintain the most inflexible 
silence. That certain precautions must be taken 
and ceremonies used to prevent the evil spirits 
which kept about buried treasure from doing 
tliem any harm. He then drew a circle about 
the place, enough to include the whole party. 
He next gathered dry twigs and leaves and made 
a fire, upon which he threw certain drugs and 
Iried lierbs which he had brought in his basket. 
.k. thick smoke rose, diffusing a potent odor, sa- 
voring marvellously of brimstone and assafoetida, 
which, however grateful it might be to the olfac- 
tory nerves of spirits, nearly strangled poor Wol- 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 519 

fertj and produced a fit of coughing and wiieezing 
tliat made tlie whole grove resound. Dr. Knip- 
perhausen then unclasped the volume which he 
had brought under his arm, which was printed 
in red and black characters in German text.. 
While Wolfert held the lantern, the doctor, by 
the aid of his spectacles, read off several forms 
of conjuration in Latin and German. He then 
ordered Sam to seize the pickaxe and proceed to 
work. The close-bound soil gave obstinate signs 
of not having been disturbed for many a year. 
After having picked his way through the surface, 
Sam came to a bed of sand and gravel, which he 
threw briskly to right and left with the spade. 

" Hark ! " said Wolfert, who fancied he heard 
a trampling among the dry leaves, and a rustling 
through the bushes. Sam paused for a moment, 
and they listened. No footstep was near. The 
bat flitted by them in silence ; a bird, roused 
from its roost by the light which glared up among 
the trees, flew circling about the flame. In the 
profound stillness of the woodland, they could 
distinguish the current rippling along the rocky 
shore, and the distant murmuring and roaring of 
Hell-gate. 

The negro continued his labors, and had al- 
ready digged a considerable hole. The doctor 
stood on the edge, reading formulae every now 
and then from his black-letter volume, or throw- 
ing more drugs and herbs upon the fire ; while 
Wolfert bent anxiously over the pit, watching 
every stroke of the spade. Any one witnessing 
the scene thus lighted up by fire, lantern, and the 



520 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

reflection of Wolfert's red mantle, might have 
mistaken the little doctor for some foul magician, 
busied in his incantations, and the grizzly -headed 
negro for some swart goblin, obedient to his com- 
,mands. 

At length the spade of the fisherman struck 
upon something that sounded hollow. The sound 
vibrated to Wolfert's heart. He struck his spade 
again. — 

" 'T is a chest," said Sam. 

« Full of gold, I '11 warrant it ! " cried Wolfert, 
clasping his hands with rapture. 

Scarcely had he uttered the words when a 
sound from above caught his ear. He cast up 
his eyes, and lo ! by the expiring light of the 
fire he beheld, just over the disk of the rock, 
what appeared to be the grim visage of the 
drowned buccaneer, grinning hideously down up- 
on him. 

Wolfert gave a loud cry, and let fall the lan- 
tern. His panic communicated itself to his com- 
panions. The negro leaped out of the hole ; the 
doctor dropped his book and basket, and began to 
pray in German. All was horror and confusion. 
The fire was scattered about, the lantern extin- 
guished. In their hurry-scurry they ran against 
and confounded one another. They fancied a 
legion of hobgoblins let loose upon tliem, and that 
tliey saw, by the fitful gleams of the scattered 
embers, strange figures, in red caps, gibbering 
and ramping around them. The doctor ran one 
way, the negro another, and Wolfert made for 
the water side. As he plunged struggling on- 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 521 

wards tlirougli briisli and brake, he heard the 
tread of some one m pursuit. He scrambled fran- 
tically forward. The footsteps gained npon him. 
He felt himself grasped by his cloak, when sud- 
denly his pursuer was attacked in turn : a fierce 
fight and struggle ensued — a pistol was dis- 
charged that lit up rock and bush for a second, 
and showed two figures grappling together — all 
was then darker than ever. The contest con- 
tinued — the combatants clinched each other, and 
panted, and groaned, and rolled among the rocks. 
There was snarling and growling as of a cur, 
mingled with curses, in which Wolfert fancied he 
could recognize the voice of the buccaneer. He 
would fain have fled, but he was on the brink of 
a precipice, and could go no further. 

Again the parties were on their feet ; again 
there was a tugging and struggling, as if strength 
alone could decide the combat, until one was pre- 
cipitated from the brow of the cliff, and sent 
headlong into the deep stream that whirled below. 
Wolfert heard tlie plunge, and a "kind of stran- 
olino;, bubblinof murmur, but the darkness of the 
night hid everything from him, and the swiftness 
of the current swept everything instantly out of 
hearing. One of the combatants was disposed of, 
l>ut whether friend or foe, Wolfert could not tell, 
Uy)V whether they might not both be foes. He 
liejird the survivor approach, and his terror re- 
vived. He saw, where the profile of the rock? 
rose against the horizon, a human form ad van- 
cing. He could not be mistaken : it nmst be tha 
Duecaneer. Whither should he fly ! — a preci- 



522 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

pice was on one side — a murderer on the other 
The enemy approached — he was close at hand, 
Wolfert attempted to let himself down the face 
of the cliiF. His cloak caught in a thorn that 
grew on the edge. He was jerked from off his 
feet, and held dangling in the air, half choked 
by the string with which his careful wife had 
fastened the garment around his neck. Wolfert 
thought his last moment was arrived ; already 
had he committed his soul to St. Nicholas, when 
the string broke, and he tumbled down the bank, 
bumping from rock to rock, and bush to bush, 
and leaving the red cloak fluttering like a bloody 
banner in the air. 

It was a long while before Wolfert came to 
himself. When he opened his eyes, the ruddy 
streaks of morning were already shooting up the 
sky. He found himself grievously battered, and 
lying in the bottom of a boat. He attempted to 
sit up, but was too sore and stiff to move. A 
voice requested him in friendly accents to lie still. 
He turned his eyes towards the speaker : it was 
Dirk Waldron. He had dogged the party, at the 
earnest request of Dame Webber and her daugh- 
ter, who, with the laudable curiosity of their sex, 
had pried into the secret consultations of Wolfert 
and tlie doctor. Dirk had been completely dis- 
tanced in folio wino; the liofht skiff of the fisher- 
man, and had just come in to rescue the poor 
money-digger from his pursuer. 

Thus ended this perilous enterprise. The doc- 
tor and Black Sam severally found their way back 
to the Manhattoes, each having some dreadful tale 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 523 

of peril to relate. As to poor Wolfert, instead of 
returning in triumph laden with bags of gold, 
he was borne home on a shutter, followed by a 
rabble - rout of curious urchins. His wife and 
daughter saw the dismal pageant from a distancCj 
and alarmed the neighborhood with their cries : 
they thought the poor man had suddenly settled 
the great debt of nature in one of his wayward 
moods. Finding him, however, still living, they 
had him speedily to bed, and a jury of old mat- 
rons of the neighborhood assembled, to determine 
how he should be doctored. The whole town 
was in a buzz with the story of the money-dig- 
gers. Many repaired to the scene of the pre- 
vious night's adventures : but though they found 
the very place of the digging, they discovered 
nothing that compensated them for tlieir trouble. 
Some say they found the fragments of an oaken 
chest, and an iron pot-lid, which savored strongly 
of hidden money ; and that in the old family vault 
there were traces of bales and boxes : but this is 
all very dubious. 

In fact, the secret of all this story has never to 
this day been discovered : whether any treasure 
were ever actually buried at that place ; whether, 
if so, it were carried off at night by those who 
had buried it ; or whether it still remains there 
under the guardianship of gnomes and spirits un- 
til it shall be properly sought for, is all matter of 
conjecture. For my part, I incline to the latter 
opinion ; and make no doubt that great sums lie 
ouried, both there and in other parts of tliis isl- 
and and its neighborhood, ever since the times 



524 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

of the buccaneers and the Dutch colonists ; and I 
would earnestly recommend the search after them 
to such of my fellow-citizens as are not engaged 
in any other speculations. 

There were many conjectures formed, also, 
as to who and what was the strange man of the 
seas who had domineered over the little fraternity 
at Corlaer's Hook for a time ; disappeared so 
strangely, and reappeared so fearfully. Some 
supposed him a smuggler stationed at that place 
to assist his comrades in landing their goods 
among the rocky coves of the island. Others, 
that he was one of the ancient comrades of Kidd 
or Bradish, returned to convey away treasures 
formerly hidden in the vicinity. The only cir- 
cumstance that throws anything like a vague light 
on this mysterious matter, is a report which pre- 
vailed of a strange foreign - built shallop, with 
much the look of a picaroon, having been seen 
hovering about the Sound for several days with- 
out landing or reporting herself, though boats 
were seen going to and from her at night : and 
that she was seen standing out of the mouth of 
the harbor, in the gray of the dawn, after the 
catastrophe of the money-diggers. 

I must not omit to mention another report, 
also, which I confess is rather apocryphal, of the 
buccaneer, who was supposed to htive been 
drowned, being seen before daybreak, with a lan- 
tern in his hand, seated astride of his great sea- 
chest, and sailing through Hell-gate, which just 
then began to roar and bellow with redoubled 
fury. 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 525 

"Wliile all the gossip world was thus filled 
with talk and rumor, poor Wolfert lay sick and 
sorrowfully in his bed, bruised in body and sorely 
beaten down in mind. His wife and daughter 
did all they could to bind up his wounds, both cor- 
poral and spiritual. The good old dame never 
stirred from his bedside, where she sat knitting 
from morning till night ; while his daughter busied 
herself about him with the fondest care. Nor 
did they lack assistance from abroad. Whatever 
may be said of the desertion of friends in distress, 
they had no complaint of the kind to make. Not 
an old wife of the neighborhood but abandoned 
her work to crowd to the mansion of Wolfert Web- 
ber, to inquire after his health, and the particu- 
lars of his story. Not one came moreover with- 
out her little pipkin of pennyroyal, sage, balm, 
or other herb tea, delighted at an opportunity 
of signalizing her kindness and her doctorship. 
What drenchings did not the poor Wolfert un- 
dergo, and all in vain ! It was a moving sight 
to behold him wasting away day by day ; grow- 
ing thinner and thinner, and ghastlier and ghast- 
lier, and staring with rueful visage from under 
an old patchwork counterpane, upon the jury of 
matrons kindly assembled to sigh and groan and 
look unhappy around him. 

Dirk Waldron was the only being that seemed 
to shed a ray of sunshine into this house of 
mourning. He came in with cheery look and 
manly spirit, and tri^d to reanimate the expiring 
heart of the poor money-digger, but it was all 
in vain. Wolfert was completely done over. If 



526 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

anything was wanting to complete his despair, it 
was a notice served upon him in the- midst of hia 
distress, that the corporation were about to run 
a new street through the very centre of his cab- 
baare-ijarden. He now saw nothino; before him 
but poverty and ruin ; his last reliance, the gar- 
den of his forefathers, was to be laid waste, and 
what then was to become of his poor wife and 
child ? 

f His eyes filled with tears as they followed the 
dutiful Amy out of the room one morning. Dirk 
Waldron was seated beside him ; Wolfert grasped 
his hand, pointed after his daughter, and for the 
first time since his illness, broke the silence he 
had maintained. 

" I am going ! " said he, shaking his head 
feebly, " and when I am gone — my poor daugh- 
ter " 

" Leave her to me, father ! " said Dirk, man- 
fully, — " I '11 take care of her ! " 

Wolfert looked up in the face of the cheery^ 
strapping youngster, and saw there was none bet- 
ter able to take care of a woman. 

" Enough," said he, — " she is yours ! — and 
now fetch me a lawyer — let me make my will 
and die." 

The lawyer was brought — a dapper, bustling, 
round-headed little man. Roorback (or Rollebuck 
as it was pronounced) by name. At the sight 
of him the women broke into loud lamentations, 
for they looked upon the signljig of a will as the 
signing of a death - warrant. Wolfert made a 
feeble motion for them to be silent. Poor Amy 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 527 

buried her face and her grief in the bed-curtain. 
Dame Webber resumed her knittins; to hide her 
distress, which betrayed itself however in a pel- 
lucid tear, which trickled silently down, and hung 
at the end of her peaked nose ; while the cat, the 
only unconcerned member of the family, played 
with the good dame's ball of worsted, as it rolled 
about the floor. 

TVolfert lay on his back, his night-cap drawn 
over his forehead ; his eyes closed ; his whole 
visage the picture of death. He begged the law- 
yer to be brief, for he felt his end approaching, 
and that he had no time to lose. The lawyer 
nibbed his pen, spread out his paper, and pre- 
pared to write. 

" I give and bequeath," said Wolfert, faintly^ 
" my small farm " 

" What — all ! " exclaimed the lawyer. 

Wolfert half opened his eyes and looked upon 
the lawyer. 

« Yes — all," said he. 

" What ! all that great patch of land with cab- 
bages and sun-flowers, which the corporation is 
just going to run a main street through ? " 

" The same," said Wolfert, with a heavy sigh, 
and sinking back upon his pillow. 

" I wish him joy that inherits it ! " said the 
little lawyer, chuckling, and rubbing his hands 
involuntarily. 

" What do you mean ? " said Wolfert, again 
opening his eyes. 

" That he '11 be one of the richest men in the 
place ! " cried little Rollebuck. 



528 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

The expiring Wolfert seemed to step back 
from the threshold of existence : his eyes again 
lighted up ; he raised himself in his bed, shoved 
Oai^k his red worsted night-cap, and stared broadly 
e.t the lawyer. 

" You don't say so ! " exclaimed he. 

" Faith, but I do ! " rejoined the other. — - 
" Why, when that great field and that huge 
meadow come to be laid out in streets, and cut 
up into snug building-lots — why, whoever owns 
it need not pull off his hat to the patroon ! " 

" Say you so? " cried Wolfert, half thrusting 
one leg out of bed, " why, then I think I '11 not 
make my will yet ! " 

To the surprise of everybody the dying man 
actually recovered. The vital spark, which had 
glimmered faintly in the socket, received fresh 
fuel from the oil of gladness, which the little law- 
yer poured into his soul. It once more burnt up 
into a flame. 

Give physic to the heart, ye who would revive 
the body of a spirit-broken man ! In a few days 
Wolfert left his room ; in a few days more his 
table was covered with deeds, plans of streets, 
and building - lots. Little Rollebuck was con- 
stantly with him, his right-hand man and adviser ; 
and instead of making his will, assisted in the 
more agreeable task of making his fortune. In 
fact Wolfert Webber was one of those worthy 
Dutch burghers of the Manhattoes whose fortunes 
have been made, in a manner, in spite of them- 
selves ; who have tenaciously held on to their 
hereditary acres, raising turnips and cabbages 



WOLFERT WEBBER. 529 

about the skirts of the city, hardly able to make 
both ends meet, until the corporation has cruelly 
driven streets through their abodes, and they have 
suddenly awakened out of their lethargy, and, to 
their astonishment, found themselves rich men. 

Before many months had ejapsed, a great bus- 
tling street passed through the very centre of the 
Webber garden, just where Wolfert had dreamed 
of finding a treasure. His golden dream was 
accomplished ; he did indeed find an unlooked- 
for source of wealth ; for, when his paternal lands 
were distributed into building-lots, and rented out 
to safe tenants, instead of producing a paltry crop 
of cabbages, they returned him an abundant crop 
of rent ; insomuch that on quarter-day it was a 
goodly sight to see his tenants knocking at the 
door, from morning till night, each with a little 
round-bellied bag of money, a golden produce of 
the soil. 

The ancient mansion of his forefathers was 
still kept up ; but instead of being a little yellow- 
fronted Dutch house in a garden, it now stood 
boldly in the midst of a street, the grand home 
of the neighborhood ; for Wolfert enlarged it 
with a wing on each side, and a cupola or tea-room 
on top, where he might climb up and smoke his 
pipe in hot weather ; and in the course of time 
the whole mansion was overrun by the chubby- 
faced progeny of Amy Webber and Dirk Wal- 
dron. 

As Wolfert waxed old, and rich, and corpulent, 
he also set up a great gingerbread-colored car- 
riage, drawn by a pair of black Flanders mares, 
34 



530 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

with tails that swept the ground; and to com- 
memorate the origin of his greatness, he had for 
hig crest a full - blown cabbage painted on the 
pannels, with the pithy motto ^lUs liopf, that 
is to say, all head ; meaning thereby that he 
had risen by sheer head-work. 

To fill the measure of his gi'eatness, in the ful- 
ness of time the renowned Ramm Rapelye slept 
with his fathers, and Wolfert Webber succeeded 
to the leather - bottomed arm - chair, in the inn- 
parlor at Corlaer's Hook ; where he long reigned 
greatly honored and respected, insomuch that he 
was never known to tell a story without its being 
believed, nor to utter a joke without its being 
laughed at. 



THE END. 







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